


After the Vault: A Commonwealth Story

by Whitelightstep



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Authority Challenge, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Difficult Decisions, Drama, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Headcanon, Near Death Experiences, Relationship(s), Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13505166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitelightstep/pseuds/Whitelightstep
Summary: Female Sole Survivor, Gladen Reed (formerly Gladen Smith in 2077), exits Vault 111 to find the world irrevocably changed. Unsure of how to proceed, the pre-war woman seeks out an identity upon the Wasteland, motivated by survival and closure. At first, it seems the only hostiles to face against on the Commonwealth are creatures such as ghouls, bloatflies and the occasional Raider. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Not everyone has the interests of others at heart, and Gladen will have to decide how best to deal with the ruthless nature of a selfish world.[This is a re-work of my previous fanfic by the same name.]





	1. Outside the Vault: Day 1

The sun of a strange sky beat down without hardly any warmth. Hands wiped at the tears that continued to roll down chilled cheeks, despite drawing deep breaths in an effort to calm the turmoil within. It was difficult to tell how long she’d been sitting at the platform’s edge. Minutes. Hours. An entire day. It didn’t matter really. It had taken a moment to adjust to the sudden light after reaching the surface, and when Gladen could see, knees buckled helplessly.

Time stood still.

An unknown world lay ahead. A dead world. Scorched, burned, and lost.

In the Vault, Gladen had maintained a strong mental focus out of necessity. Exploring room-by-room, trying to make some sense of what the hell had happened. It was confusing. All of it was confusing. The giant insects, the dead bodies, the questions left unanswered.

_What was going on? Where was everyone?_

The other pods adjacent to her own had been dark and lifeless. Friends. Neighbors. People she had known for years. Dead. All of them were dead.

Nate, too, had been killed in Vault 111.

She remembered the strangers in white coats. She remembered the deep cold. She remembered witnessing the struggle and watched in horror as a firearm was taken up against her defending spouse.

 

_Bang._

 

She remembered the sound all too well.

It felt like she was the one who had been shot in that very moment. The ache that ripped through her chest had threatened to kill her too, or so it had felt like it would. Then Shaun. They’d taken Shaun. Ripped from his father’s arms by the murdering strangers.

 

_Why?_

_Why?!_

Slender hands still ached after pounding on the pod window as she desperately tried to smash the glass. She’d been helpless. Utterly helpless. Unable to change the events as they unfolded before her. It had been like some movie, and she was the audience. Purple and off-yellow bruising on those hands were a testament to the frantic attempts to change the course of history.

It had all be for naught.

The dim of her Pip-Boy became more noticeable now as the sun disappeared beneath the edge of the horizon. A chill came with the waning sun and lengthening shadows as night crept ever closer.

Without much energy, or perhaps it was lack of will, she flipped through the device on her arm. There was no one exact thing that she was searching for. It was a mindless task as loss filled every thought. **Click. Click. Click.** The screen scrolled some information and she idly read it. None of it was retained as the data flashed by. Conscious mind and thoughts were in lost in heartbreak, unable to really task anything to memory.

 

_The bombs had actually fallen._

_Time… had passed._

 

_But how? How long had it been?_

 

The computer failed to reveal exactly how much. The Vault, once pristine, had been rusted and broken down upon waking. Bodies that had been flesh were now but skeletons. Mind was unable to grasp the concept, feeling as if it were a madness that faced her now. She tuned into a few signals that blipped up on the screen of her arm device, but quickly turned them off as they played automatically over the onboard audio speaker.

_Perhaps the signals meant... people._

A frown.

Until she was in a safe and secure place, it wouldn’t be wise to draw attention by going far. There was no telling what lay in store in this strange surface world. Gladen heaved a ragged breath. No more tears came. Soul felt as if it were empty in every sense of the word.

Somehow, the woman came to her feet.

Soon, she tasked herself with examining nearby wreckage. Exploration of the immediate area yielded a few scarce supplies. The 10mm from the Vault had some ammunition, but having extra rounds on hand would be a good idea. The vehicles surrounding the area were rusted beyond salvage. An unexpected skeleton startled her as the Pip-Boy light illuminated it in the coming dark.

There were indeed useful items worth taking, once the shock of the body wore off. Familiar canned food, the exterior showing no signs of rust or indentations. Batteries. A lighter. More ammunition.

The dusty 10mm was reloaded with fresh rounds.

“... Maybe you were the lucky ones,” she remarked offhandedly to the long-dead human.

Nothing would come of sitting idly by.

_Protection, shelter, food, water._

_Basics. Start with the basics._

The only thing Gladen Smith could be sure of was that she was not sure of anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Sanctuary.

_Ironic._

That was where the forlorn woman found herself after a short walk. Familiar. It was something familiar, at least. It was better than nothing, and certainly better than pressing on without a clue. Everything had changed. Everything was different.

_Where to begin? Who to turn to?_

Gladen had no idea who had taken Shaun.

_How long had they been in the Vault underground and frozen away? Who were the people who had killed Nate?_

Amongst the whirlwind of thoughts about what the next step would be, a distinct voice had cried out from the ruins.

“As I live and breathe! It’s… It’s REALLY you!”

So unexpected had it been to see anybody above on the surface, if Codsworth could count as a ‘body’, Gladen had drawn her weapon in reflex.

“Codsworth?”

_He was still here?_

Despite the world coming to waste, and despite the nuclear fallout, the dutiful robot continued in its programmed chores without question. It appeared the poor mechanoid butler was busy trimming dead and browning branches of wild brambles when his former owner stumbled upon him. Where once had been a thriving garden now lay little more than dust, dirt and twigs. Where once had been their home was a lop-sided mess of debris with more holes than roof.

Still, it was someone. She wasn’t entirely alone. Tears threatened to spill anew.

“Codsworth… wha…” she struggled. A swallow against the lump in her throat. The pistol lowered immediately and voice was barely audible as the words came. “What happened?”

It took the dedicated machine some time to formulate an answer. He seemed confused, stuck in his duties. Instead, the Handy bot proceeded to chat inanely about the remaining tasks left undone on his chore list, worrying about the state of the yard and inability to bring it back to life.

“Cods,” she tried to interrupt, “That’s alright. We’ll deal with the yard later. I need you to tell me; Codsworth, what happened... to the world?”

Knowing this was her only link, the only familiar thing left in this wasteland, the widowed Mrs. Smith mustered patience as best she could. Perhaps a bit of persistence and coaxing would yield a clearer picture from her, well, friend.

“You are asking strange questions, m’um. I think I understand why. Hunger induced paranoia. That’s the trouble. Not eating properly for 200 years will do that, I’m afraid,” Codsworth said, gesturing casually with a metallic arm.

 

“200 years?”

 

_What?_

_No… it couldn’t…_

 

“Are you…?” she tried to wrap her head around what was happening. Legs folded as the woman sat on the curb that marked the end of their former driveway.

_What the hell was happening?_

Everything after that seemed a bit of a blur. The Handy bot continued to talk and Gladen tried her best to listen, but only caught bits or pieces.

_200 years? It couldn’t be. That was impossible._

_Wasn’t it...?_

Codsworth seemed a bit off at moments, but began running conversational protocols with higher functionality as time went on. Perhaps having additional dialog to analyze as a response allowed better system-checks to correct glitches in the sequencing of the inner codes. He started to make more sense as time went on. Started to form cohesive sentences. Started to talk more about the state of how things are, rather than the state of how things had once been.

At one point, the mechanical butler had gotten so distressed at talking about his laundry-list of never-ending chores that he’d caused an internal fault, which required full hard reset. Conversation improved immensely from that point forward.

The end of the world was a hard matter to grasp for all manner of observers, it seemed. Both human and machine alike.

Gladen stayed close to home for the time being. There was urgency to leave, to seek out and find her missing infant son... but... to where? In a world so vast and so very alien, setting out without a clue would have been a fruitless endeavor. Motherly urges fought against strict logic in a bitter internal quarrel. Logic gained the upper hand in all of it, thankfully. Feet remained stationary as mind tried to piece together some semblance of a game plan.

Codsworth insisted on cooking up a hardy meal after collecting a few stray cans from pantries in a nearby house. At first the woman had politely declined.

_How could canned goods be, well, good after 200 years?_

However, that refusal seemed to put quite the damper on the poor machine’s mood. With a sigh of resignation, the human part of the duo admitted to being rightfully famished.


	2. Outside the Vault: Day 3

Both investigated the ruined buildings for resources to pass the time. Hands were kept busy by picking up a few possible necessities here or there. It had been nearly dark when she came across the Handy bot that first night and he already mentioned several times just how different things were now. More dangerous. More unpredictable.

_Seems that assessment was entirely accurate._

The giant cockroaches she’d seen in the Vault were wandering on the surface as well, quickly dispatched by the duo.

_What else was there? Were there other mutated bugs? What about other things? Animals? People?_

Never had she ever felt so uncomfortable in her own neighborhood, checking every corner and turn as they walked.

Codsworth chattered on and on about the events he had seen over the years from his perspective of the little community, seeming better able to articulate after his reboot. Turns out he had ventured off at one point only to be attacked by other humans. It had given him cause to stay close to the small area, tending dead plants and polishing rusting cars instead.

 _So, there were still others_ , she noted to herself.

Occasionally Gladen was forced to redirect the conversation when Codsworth would get stuck on a rant about when he had officially run out of cleaning products, or the time when the roof had collapsed onto the floor just after he’d just swept. Such stories were becoming droll. Yet, the amount of information her familiar friend was able to provide about certain matters was beyond valuable. It was worth the repetitive storytelling at times.

Armed with a better understanding of what had happened in the world, even if it was from the perspective of a Handy bot, Gladen was able to figure out at least a few things.

First, no one lived around this outlying area anymore and it sounded like any who showed up were just passing through.

Second, the amount of dangers facing her now were unlike any she had ever faced before.

And third, she still had no idea who killed her husband and took Shaun.


	3. Outside the Vault: Day 27

_Feral ghouls._

_Ugh._

How she hated feral ghouls.

They were fast, inhumanly strong, dripped radiation and walked through bullets like a monstrous version of a mime in the wind. Looking through her medium-powered scope, the former Vault occupant counted off in her head. At least five stumbled around in the immediate area out in the open. Surely there were more wandering in and out between the buildings. Ghouls had a knack for hiding in the shadows, only to leap at the slightest sound of prey.

Carefully, she crept along the decaying and crumbling buildings with her back to the wall. Or back against any broken down vehicle, or any semblance of cover at all really. Anything that could be used as a barrier was heavily utilized. Focused gaze swept the unfamiliar streetscape as she looked for a door. Hopeful thoughts wished to find somewhere suitable in an effort to gain a higher vantage point. Codsworth whirled quietly behind her as they searched. The machine was oddly silent. Probably in part because his most recent outburst of informative facts about a specific location had drawn the attention of several nearby aggressive mole rats.

The encounter had required a fair bit of ammunition to subdue.

His female companion had been quite cross with him after that, threatening to venture on without him if it ever happened again. The Handy bot now followed along silently, noting things he would tell her later once they returned back to camp instead.

An unlocked door presented itself at the side of a large brick building. Within was an open lobby of sorts, looking almost like a lounge. At the back were stairs that stretched upward, twisting back on themselves as it foretold of an upper level.

_Perfect._

Careful and patient exploration took the duo deep inside, each step cautious and methodical. Switching to her modified 10mm pistol, she swept the room for hostiles before moving up to the second floor.

No ghouls.

_All clear._

The now street-garbed woman returned to the main floor and set up a fragmentation mine near the entrance they had just used. Just in case anything had decided to follow them, or perhaps had seen them enter. Stealth was the name of the game these days. Caution in each methodical step. Survival. That was the goal.

Everyone had the advantage out here. They had grown up in this world. They saw the world in its already changed state. Not her. She had only a few short weeks out in the Commonwealth region. Only a mere hiccup in time compared to the life skills others had gathered. Focus and an open mind had gotten Gladen this far. With luck, it would get easier as she continued. People were strange now. Skittish. Or violent. There didn’t seem to be a middle ground. Shoot first, ask questions later. Usually just shoot later too, just to be on the safe side. It was so strange. Surviving against the elements was difficult enough. Surviving the people? That was more challenging.

Checking her magazine, the moderately-provisioned woman put away her 10mm in favour of a .45 combat rifle. An opening in the side of the buildings exterior would serve as an ideal vantage point over the hostile-riddled region. Keen emerald eye set to the weapon and browsed the ghouls through the scope as she remained crouched on the second floor. Half the wall they hid behind was gone, only one window intact. She braced herself against the brick and counted once again. Six feral ghouls. Inhaling and then a pause, sighting in.

 

**Bang.**

 

Her target’s head exploded like an overripe melon. The sound echoed through the square, but didn’t reveal her exact position. A handful of other ghouls stirred and began to wander around, drawn by the noise.

_Shit, why are they so fast?_

One of the ghouls within scope-sight paused, and again, it’s head was ripped from it’s body as another round was loosened from its brass casing. Again and again Gladen fired, clearing several rounds within a short span of time. Ferals dropped as they continued to wander in circles in an attempt to track her location. None seemed to accomplish this task with any certainty, snarling aimlessly at the vacant world instead.

While reloading her next magazine, a distinctive click from the Pip-Boy alerted her to a newly identified signal transmission. Disregarding the ghastly breathing of the radiated creatures below, she took a moment to tune into the new signal out of curiosity. Gladen knew there were people, of course. Technology was a rare and treasured matter, however. A new signal or identification of someone else using tech? It was worth a moment of further investigation. Plus, given the monotony of each day, new information was its own form of treasure. Anything to break up the bleakness and repetition.

 

Military Frequency AF95.

 

_Military? Was there still_ _such a thing?_

Eyes read the display once more, wondering if she’d simply glanced at it too quickly.

_No, that was correct. Military._

“This is Scribe Haylen of reconnaissance squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range…”

“It’s a distress signal,” Gladen said to herself, staring at the dim green glow of the Pip-Boy.

“… Our unit has sustained casualties and is running low on supplies…. We’re requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station…”

“Cambridge Police Station? That must be near here.”

With practiced movements, fingers quickly switched to the local map triangulation option. It was an interesting aspect to the Pip-Boy, able to mark buildings of interest if the information was in the data records. There was an option to add markers and new identifiable regions if one so chose. Gladen tried to make it a habit to edit the map each night, or input new locations of interest if they were lacking. Fortunately enough, an icon not far from their position indicated they were only a few blocks away from the local police station, or what had originally been the local police station. Other buildings were but dots on a topographical map, unmarked and unexplored.

The rest of the transmission was riddled with static, but it was clear they were looking for assistance from their fellow units. She wasn’t of their unit, but maybe they could be of help?

Gladen chewed on her lower lip for a moment in thought. Her current venture was about locating a new power core for the power armor in her care, thanks to Sturges and Preston. The original core had become compromised during the battle with a creature that had nearly killed her. The power supply had lost functionality and required replacement. The power armor itself stood at Sanctuary, vacant and quiet.

Preston wasn’t currently with her, so it was impossible to ask him about the transmission and if he knew anything about this particular military group. Stopping to go back would be a fair walk. If the signal was recent, or urgent, there may not be enough time to warrant such a trip. It could be too late by then.

“Codsworth?” she called out.

“Yes m’um?” he spun up the stairs to join her, his buzzsaw arm covered in feral filth. He regarded it proudly with one of his tri-eyes.

“How many of those frag grenades did we manage to bring?” she said, checking the supplies on her own person. Codsworth had been retrofitted to carry some of her more needed items, boasting a modest duffle bag strapped to his main module. Current gear they had packed allotted secrecy, stealth and mobility. More direct or aggressive encounters would be ill-advised, given their smaller caliper items and minimal explosives.

“I believe we brought four m’um. And I believe three fragmentation mines?” he whirled, tri-eyes adjusting in the half-light.

 

**Beep-tick-BOOM.**

 

The floor below them rocked with a resounding shockwave and a large plume of dusk rose up the stairs. The familiar smell of burnt feral ghoul wafted up from the lower level along with the cloud of old-world grime. The resounding explosion had shifted a heavy item deeper within the building as well, floor creaking heavily and a large resounding echo announcing its inevitable tip. Given the explosion just moments before, the falling item sounded anticlimactic as it fell.

“Two fragmentation mines, then, m’um,” Codsworth boasted the new count.

“There’s a distress signal coming from the Cambridge Police Station,” quick hands were double-checking the stashed gear in pockets and upon straps. “I think we should check it out. See if there’s anything we can do.”

“Do you think that wise? The last time you barely got out with your life. Had it not been for that armor contraption you had found, that Deathclaw would have torn you to shreds!” Codsworth spun his eyes dramatically.

“That doesn’t mean we should stop helping, Cods. Surely not everyone out here is ruthless,” tone was hopeful. There would always be risks. Always be dangers. It was already apparent that most humans would be happier to hide deep in their holes rather than risk their necks for someone in distress.

She wasn’t like that.

Today would be different.

Codsworth made a noise that could only be taken as disapproval. Still, the dutiful robot followed Gladen down to the main floor without lagging. In truth, both companions needed each other. It was wonderfully delightful to have someone to speak to again. Looking down at his buzzsaw, the Handy bot briefly wondered if he’d ever get all the ghoul bits cleaned out of his servos after all was said and done.

* * *

The Cambridge Police Station wasn’t terribly far from their position, but the streets made navigating a direct course difficult. Feral ghouls were growing in number just as cover began to grow scarce. Deeper investigation into the small city’s core proved that this excursion was not to be taken lightly. Gladen switched to the 10mm automatic pistol as it threatened to turn into a close-combat situation with ghouls dangerously near. The road ahead was suddenly punctuated with an unfamiliar sound. Laser rifles and bursts of glowing red rounds.

 _Red bullets?_ _Tracers, maybe?_

The sound was odd too. Each round appeared to hiss, coursing through the air like a flaring ember rather than lead and copper.

A surge of feral ghouls leapt from the shadows and pressed against one another in a massive snarling rush. Floodlights turned the dim of dusk into what seemed like day from behind a massive wall and gate. The pressing bodies of the creatures strained the chains of the perimeter, and soon, the gate was compromised as it fell away with a resounding clang.

Gladen and Codsworth had found the Cambridge Police Station the very same moment as the massive horde ghouls.

They were everywhere.

_And still so fast._

“M’um?” Codsworth asked with a rising tone.

“We have to help, come on,” she decided then and there. 10mm hoisted into a comfortable position and began to aim high into the crowd of mutated forms. Boots carried her towards the fray. A headshot here or there might help them even the odds, if only a little bit. A few stray ghouls noticed the unfamiliar intruder as the larger mass of rotting bodies pressed through the collapsed entrance. Red laser rounds flashed in all directions as those inside attempted to hold ground against the sudden onslaught. Codsworth jumped into the horde himself, buzzsaw and flamer creating a secondary diversion and buying valuable seconds.

_Who knew a butler could be so bold?_

Naturally, a few caught sight of the Vault dweller and turned aggressively towards the lone target. It was a poor decision on their part, human finger stroking the trigger of her weapon repeatedly without hesitation. A handful dropped, skulls flared open. One, still very much alive, lunged and jumped at her. The clawing dead weight nearly knocked her over. She ducked beneath the downward force, slipped free of the grasping iron grip and quickly spun to the side to jump over a nearby car. Trying to win against a feral in hand-to-hand combat was suicide, especially once they were able to fix a person within their grip.

“Cods, move!” her strained voice shouted as ghoul-slicked fingers pulled a frag grenade loose and tore at the pin in a practiced movement. A ping as the primer was struck. Underhand toss sent the archaic equipment into the mass of ghouls at the gate before ducking away behind the steel-sided car.

A resounding boom took out a large portion of the clustered group. The handful that survived crawled helplessly with legs grotesquely taken off in the blast. Many of the others had not been so lucky, existing now only as twitching muscle fibres strewn about the dirt. Gladen pressed through, taking headshots at the livelier ghouls that gurgled in at her feet.

It was far from over.

Codsworth continued to fend off any that were still standing or trailing behind outside the gates, all the while yelling some bold, if somewhat ridiculous, phrases.

Inside the wall seemed like a whole different world. The floodlights illuminated the entire area with clear white light. Sandbags and catwalks showed intelligent fortification that was unexpected, especially when compared to most construction seen on the wasteland. The camp looked much more organized. There was little time available to analyze the intricate defenses that had been set up. Ghouls were still wreaking havoc within the vicinity.

A large figure in power armor stood at the edge of the fortified stairs, apparent laser rifle cutting through ghouls with its distinct red glow and odd sound. They were swarming him; the loud, noisy, well-lit target. There was little question why the simple creatures were drawn to such a person. Other laser rounds flew nearby intermittently. Two other figures crouched by the stairs. They bore simple protective gear much like herself. To venture into the swarm directly would have been reckless. One appeared wounded, blood trickling down the side of his determined face. Their position made it impossible to address the swarm without also risking their comrade within.

“Civilian in the perimeter! Check your fire!” a voice shouted from within the chaos.

_Well, they knew she was here now._

All they needed was a distraction. A chance for the ghouls to untangle. To step just one stride away from the man to open themselves for dispatching.

“Hey!” Gladen started yelling, walking to a tactical position. A reckless position. Fast hands dropped the magazine. It skittered to the ground, spent. Another one was slammed home. Click. Fresh rounds. “Hey, slimbags. Yeah, you! Over here!”

Iron sights settled on a set of milky eyes that spun to greet her. Several heads began to turn. Bodies began to rotate, distracted by the new lively prey. The mass began to untangle if only slightly. Began to step away. One snarled, broken teeth brown in the floodlights as it lounged for her.

Red laser fire began gunning down the forms with ease. So, too, did her bullets rip through those that dared stray too close. A ghoul with half its face torn apart rushed the newcomer by surprise. With gritted teeth, Gladen swung downward and caught the creature with the butt of her pistol grip. The weakened skull crumpled under the assault and the monster fell to the wayside with a sickening crunch.

Two magazines, a barrage of laser rounds and one close-up headshot under the chin later, the ghouls that had managed to infiltrate the walls of the complex all lay still. Foul smelling blood and bodily liquids oozed over much of the open ground. Each step was made slightly slick as a result. It was an odd sensation to walk through.

“Cods?” Gladen called out, pistol still raised. Emerald eyes swept each corner or shadow in turn, giving the area in one final check.

“Here, m’um,” he said cheerfully. If a robot could whistle in a nonchalant fashion, he very well would have been. It was not often the poor chap got a chance to add new stories to his data chip. Sympathy to whoever he relayed such a tale to. They would be at his mercy for a while.

The former Vault dweller relaxed her posture with relief, happy to see her companion still in tip-top shape. In desperate need of a cleaning, but functional.  

“We appreciate the assistance, civilian. But what’s your business here?”

The man in power armor approached to stand in front of Gladen. An imposing figure to be certain. If his power armor wasn’t enough to demand respect, his tone and body language certainly were. He was a dangerous man. His gaze was intense, analytical. Measuring. Even standing before him felt as if there was some type of internal trial or assessment going on behind those dark brown eyes.

“Are you reconnaissance squad Gladius?” she managed to ask, weapon still in hand.

Intense gaze narrowed in her direction.

“How do you know that name?” he held a tone that boasted a commanding nature.

“Your signal came up when I was traveling nearby,” the dark-copper haired woman answered truthfully, nodding towards the Pip-Boy currently hugging her left forearm. “I’m not of your unit, but I figured I would see if I could be of some assistance.”

“Are you from a local settlement?” the man pressed, tone never changing. Steely gaze regarded the Pip-Boy with a guarded look of curiosity.

“I’m from Sanctuary Hills, on the other side of Concord.”

_It was true, after all._

“Clearly you’re not just a settler. The way you charged in and engaged those ferals, I find that a bit difficult to believe,” the stranger replied skeptically. “I’ve seen the location on our maps, but I’ve never visited the area myself. There isn’t much over there for us to collect. If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine. She wasn’t sure how many of ‘we’ there were for this group, but it was obviously not a rag-tag organization. This was something larger. They used military signals and military communications. These people were serious about whatever it was they were doing. The way they kept their lights on at dusk when she’d found them, the way they set up walls that didn’t blend into the landscape… No wonder they were constantly being targeted. They stood out like a sore thumb.

Emerald gaze tilted to regard the floodlights pointedly. “I can see why. You certainly make your presence known. No wonder the ghouls came at you. Like bloatflies to a campfire,” she remarked.

Overconfidence could get even experienced survivalists killed. That much should have been common knowledge. If the strange man took such an observation as a slight, there was no tell of it upon his features.

“If you want to continue pitching in, we could use another gun on our side for the moment,” he said, looking the stranger over once more. It was as if he were double-checking his intuition and brief assessment of the new human.

“I’d be glad to continue to help, but… I’ll need more of an explanation first,” Gladen said, still unsure of who these people were exactly.

Both parties were being dutifully cautious. Both remained armed during the verbal exchange.

“Very well,” the man in power armor shifted, standing just a bit taller than before. “I’m Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys.”

“The Brotherhood of Steel?” the female stranger remarked.

_Cods had never mentioned them. Neither had Preston._

“You haven’t heard of us?”

Gladen shook her head.

“If you haven’t heard of us, then why did you come to our aid?” his expression changed minutely, for a hint of a breath seeming perplexed.

“Your broadcast said you needed help,” she reminded. Few people genuinely helped others except perhaps for the chance at monetary gain. “People don’t always help people out here. I was in the right place at the right time. It would have felt wrong to just walk away, no matter who you were.”

“That was risky,” his tone was once again neutral. “You had no idea what you were walking into, or who we were.”

“Nobody ever really knows who anybody is out here,” she countered evenly. Intense green gaze slowly regarded the larger figure with a top-to-bottom assessment. “You all seem to operate in military fashion. I figured you weren’t Raiders. Plus, they don’t wear power armor quite like yours.”

Paladin Danse’s left eyebrow rose slightly, but no further questions left his lips.

“Fair enough,” the ranking officer concluded. “Then perhaps I can be more forthcoming. Let me explain more about us and our position here...”

The man in charge went on to describe their current state of affairs with the reconnaissance team. Due to unforeseen events and a poor stretch of luck, they were down a man and their supplies weren’t going to last them much longer. The situation was turning dire and, unless they got word out to their superiors, there was no fallback plan to go to. It would get quite serious if steps to action weren’t taken swiftly.

Being in the Commonwealth was one thing. Being in the Commonwealth after attracting a good amount of attention only to then be cut off from ones resources? It was certainly a recipe for disaster.

Gladen was usually a quick judge of character, but the team before her was like trying to read a wall. Unsurprising. Everyone had walls. Especially in this time of the world. However, the Brotherhood soldiers appeared to take such a notion to an entirely new level. A glance was offered back at Codsworth, who simply rotated his eyes in a curious fashion as the scene continued to unfold before them. It was obvious the little robot wanted to advise her to be cautious, as he always did. She decided against asking the Handy bot his opinion. It certainly wouldn’t win her any confidence points with these new people if she asked her robot butler for advice.

“If you need help, and need supplies, I’d be happy to offer some time and an extra hand. I admit, I’m new to the area myself, but if you need another person to help you get back in touch with your team then perhaps I can be of use,” Gladen concluded. Safety was thrown on the 10mm and swift hands stashed it within a leather leg holster, making a point of putting away her weapon as an offering of trust.

“Outstanding,” Paladin Danse appeared to be pleased, or perhaps just not angry. It was difficult to tell.

* * *

Stealing tech was nothing new. Scavenging was a way of life.

ArcJet Systems was the largest building that she could remember entering after the Vault. Tactics had been to seek out smaller venues, limiting human activity. Sticking to the outskirts and staying away from zones that would be more effort than they were worth. ArcJet was large, with many floors and numerous opportunities to seek out the high ground. The building felt like trouble before they had even set foot fully inside.

Fortunately, Paladin Danse did not seem at all deterred or overwhelmed by the idea of exploring the facility. They needed what was inside. It was tech likely nestled high in the building. A transmitter of sorts. Scribe Haylen had given them details about the device, on what it was, what it may have looked like and why they desperately needed it. Based on archival records, it would boost their failing signal and allow them a means to reach their superiors or outlying teams.

Upon entering the building, hostiles had been there to greet them without hesitation.

Even as the entrance door was brutally shoved aside, hissing laser rounds filled the air around them and pock-marked the nearby doorframe. They weren’t like any hostiles Gladen had run into before. These were… robots. Some kind of robots. High functioning bi-pedal humanoids. They had faces and structure that were akin to their human counterparts, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Metallic skeletal frames cradled advanced functional core systems. Whoever had created them had taken the time to make the internal operating mechanics, and all of its components, resemble the shape and placement of real human organs.

_Unsettling._

“What are those?!” she asked, flattening herself against a nearby wall as they took brief cover.

“Synths,” Paladin Danse spat.

Not only were they, these synths, completely foreign, but they were also incredibly hard to put down. They didn’t feel pain like the Raiders did. They didn’t even really take cover themselves. And, worst of all, they were firing laser weapons quite similar to the ones the Brotherhood had been using at the compound. Rather than red, these fired a blinding magnesium-white. Each sun-hot round hissed by with deadly purpose. Even a near-hit could singe the skin as it flashed by.

Paladin Danse was better armored and possessed a measured level of experience. Rounds scarcely harmed the surface of the steel plates he wore. As such, the female hired gun stuck well behind him as they pressed deeper into the facility. Twice now the synthetic human’s laser rounds had scorched clean through her road leathers, reddening the skin beneath with small blisters. Luckily, none had been a direct shot, missing by half an inch or so. After that, she took extra care with finding cover.

_No sense in getting killed or gravely wounded just to assist a troop of soldiers get back to base._

_Were there even doctors anymore?_

Still, the experience was doing her well. Ghouls were simple targets. Raiders were human, and therefore subject to human weaknesses such as pain, fear and blinding rage. Synths, however, required a certain level of skill. It took Gladen a little longer to figure out the weak points of their internal structure. Like most, headshots seemed to work well. Other crucial focus points were the joints and certain computerized organ-looking structures that seemed to spark and smoke when heavily damaged. Simply overpowering them with rounds was a second option, although the limited amount of 10mm ammunition made this a unsustainable means to dealing with the hostiles.

Gladen regarded her own weapons; A rusty pipe rifle possessing a medium range scope with just a hint of duct tape and a 10mm automatic pistol.

_Fortune favoured the bold._

Before moving on, the Vault dweller slung away the wasteland weapons and instead lifted one of the pristinely white rifles from a gunned down synth. Metallic fingers clutched it even in death, quickly pried away with a bit of twisting. The rifle was a self-contained unit. Straightforward. Simple in its advanced ways. It felt odd to look at something that wasn’t covered in grime, filth or rust. Quickly, she stuffed what appeared to be extra ammunition, a type of cell casing that looked like a sort of battery, in her pockets.

Boots carried her deeper into the facility, now boasting the newly acquired gear. It made sense. If any other hostiles were to fall on their way through the facility then it would be easy to resupply on ammo instead of risking running low on their own. Paladin Danse had, apparently, liked that.

“You may be a civilian, but you have a tactical mind for opportunities,” he remarked. “Not often we meet civilians like that. Most freeze up. Shut down. Perhaps there is hope yet for the Commonwealth if there are more like you.”

_That was reassuring._

“Thank you,” she said, unsure of what else to add to the compliment.

Hours dragged on. Dead ends. Turn backs. Stairs. Blocked passages. Hostiles. It was proving to be more of an adventure than they bargained for.

_On the bright side, at least there were no ghouls._

It didn’t help that they were locked out of the upper levels by some security protocol and emergency power conservation mode. Nor did it help that hostiles were bearing down on them even after so many had fallen, new units seeming to crawl out of the very walls the deeper they went.

“See if you can get the power on. We need to get upstairs and get the transmitter. We’ve come too far to go back without it,” he’d said as they continued downward, following faded signs that indicated potential maintenance areas that could be of use. With a fresh power cell in her rifle, the female nodded and sought out the basement’s control room. The power room was complex, but straightforward. Giant buttons were labeled clearly. Some even flashed with indication as to what they did in the grand scheme of things.

It had been a good hunch that lead them here.

_Power. We need power._

A switch. A large metallic lever of a thing. Above it was a dimmed out screen that could barely be read: ‘Override’.

It was worth a shot. Petite hands struggled. Boots slipped. For a moment, the former Vault dweller nearly resorted to kicking the rusted device, but with a screeching groan, it obeyed at the very last second. Sparks showered for half a breath as the connection was thrown. Lights flickered and bloomed to life all around. A set of blast doors behind the woman slammed closed in a way that made her heart stop with dread. The exit. That had been the exit to this computerized room. Windows encompassed 180 degrees of the area, giving clear vantage to the scene.

She was trapped as power flooded the facility. The veteran soldier in the room beyond was struggling against a tide of synthetic hostiles, illuminated now by lights all around.

He was too busy to notice, losing ground. No longer nearest the stairs, he had been forced away and towards the center of the massive round basement room. Vast flights of stairs spiraled up the strange open shaft that they had descended to get here, looking more like a silo than a building now. Laser rifle flashed red as it cut through the synthetic ranks. Never did the man stop moving, trying to prevent being outflanked. They were pressing forward at an alarming rate.

Gritting her teeth, the trapped woman hoisted up an ancient office chair and hurled it at the glass with a fair bit of might, hoping it would break. A dull thud announced the failure of that plan. The piece of office equipment tumbled awkwardly back to the floor. Fists pounded on the reinforced glass.

A flashback threatened to steal her breath; the idea of being trapped behind glass. Helpless.

A sequence was booting up, displayed on a nearby monitor. Various systems could be heard sighing to life. Red lights across the monitoring board began to pulse. It didn’t look right.

“Danse!” she screamed. “Paladin Danse! Something’s wrong!”

A set of metal doors to his left slammed shut with a resounding bang. He couldn’t turn to look as he fought to keep the enemy at a distance. Dimly he heard his name being shouted.

_Was she in trouble too?_

The Paladin gritted his teeth within his helmet, sweat beading on his brow. The display in his visor offered caution as internal receptors registered varying amounts of structural threats to its integrity. Suddenly there was a loud, blaring alarm in the immediate area.

 

“WARNING! WARNING!”

 

“Paladin Danse!”Gladen shouted again as the scene in front of her took a fiery turn.

A system was starting up, drumming in such a low tone that Danse could feel it in his chest. Again he heard his name distantly. A flash, and then suddenly everything went a blinding white. The large armored man felt a surge of heat hit him like he was standing in the blast radius a hundred colliding missiles. Feet stumbled back and the downward force from above sent him to his knees, nearly tipping over. Steel-covered fingers flared and clutched at the front of his visor, trying desperately to shield his vision from the blinding light.

_Hours. It felt like hours._

He yelled, although none but him could hear it.

In truth, it had only been a few short moments. Not even a quarter of a minute. The searing heat had threatened to melt his power armor if it had continued much longer. Just as suddenly as the heat and light had appeared it all stopped. No tapering off. No ebbing of the force. Just utterly ceased.

Somewhere a blast door opened.

The officer was breathing heavily inside his power armor, trying to make some semblance of what had just occurred.

“Paladin Danse!” she shouted, white synth laser rifle in hand as she crossed the fire-blasted room. Entering the threshold from the cool air of the internal room to the fire-blasted room was like walking into an oven. Instantly uncomfortable. Instantly harder to breath. Air vents nearby seemed to be on full, pushing cool air into the testing floor as designated. The tiles around them crackled with heat, scorched and burned. Fused to the floor in charred piles were synthetic parts and metal that had once been synths.

The veteran officer blinked away the light spots from his eyes and reached up to grab the release at the back of his helmet. With a hiss and click it came loose. He pulled it off with a deep inhale. Even hot as the air outside was, it somehow felt less stifling to be free of the helm for a moment.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” she was asking, nearly reaching out to help him up. Before touching the armor, however, she jerked away with a yelp. The power suit was still glowing hot to the touch at certain corners.

“Got… cooked by those flames. But thanks to my power armor, I’m still in one piece,” he said, face flushed, but unhurt. He took a few deep breaths before coming to his feet. The hood he wore beneath his power armor was soaked with sweat.

“I’m… I’m sorry! I didn’t know that would… the sequence started counting down and I tried to yell…” Gladen tried to explain, feeling responsible that he could have been killed with what had just transpired.

“Old world technology is something we are still striving to… understand. You couldn’t possibly have known what would happen. It’s alright, civilian. We’re still alive. That’s what matters,” he said in a surprisingly reassuring tone. It was still a straightforward kind of tone, but it helped. Deep brown eyes gazed upwards at the monstrosity. “Any idea what it is?”

Gladen stole a glance upward as well. “Looks like a giant jet engine. They were probably doing testing here, since it’s not attached to an actual jet,” she remarked.  
  
It was simply that. A hulking beast of an engine, held aloft by internal supports with the point of thrust facing downward.

“Jet engine?” the Paladin questioned, continuing to regard the contraption for a moment longer before his gaze settled on the unfamiliar woman. It wasn’t unusual for people to know some matters of old world technology, but most were oblivious to the lesser known devices.  

“Given the name of the facility, it’s a fair assumption,” she clarified, referring to the title of the company they had seen upon entering.

“Fair enough,” he said, feeling more comfortable after taking a moment to catch his breath. “We should keep moving. I’m sure that managed to deal with most of the hostiles, but the longer we stay here, the more of a risk we face. I would rather not have to experience that kind of blast again.”

They were both in agreement on that, to be sure.

Despite the internal heat still high, and the heat waves continuing to come off the upper portion of his armor, Paladin Danse returned his helmet and secured it with a quick quarter turn. Inside, a coupler hissed and secured the attachment with a tiny locking mechanism. Filters once again began pumping air, simulating a faint breeze within the compartment. It was still blowing warm air, but would cool as the armor cooled.

With the difficult part done of restoring power, it would be much easier to press forward into the upper sections of the facility. He was grateful for the lights that lead the way to their cause. 

* * *

It had been a long day.

It started with ghouls and ended with synths. There was also the long dark trek back to the police station. Night on the wasteland was cold and unpredictable, lending a sense of urgency as they pressed through the deep dark. Their way was illuminated only by the lamp on the Paladin’s armor. Gladen couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. Thankfully, no further troubles crossed their path and nothing came of the uneasy feeling. Floodlights welcomed the duo home. A secure perimeter. Walls. No hostiles at the gates nor climbing from the walls. Senses were allowed a moment’s reprieve from being on high alert.

Rhys had been openly staring down the unfamiliar woman since their return. Even going so far as to create purposeful distance between them. It was unsurprising. Eventually, the Knight tired of the lack of response and instead proceeded to ignore the woman entirely instead.

_That worked for her._

Fork pushed at the barely warmed up Cram that proved to be her meal for the night. Plates were a novelty. This was eaten straight from the preserved aluminum tin. Her green gaze focused on the food, trying best to ignore the unhappy Knight in return.

Paladin Danse was recalling details about the successful mission to Scribe Haylen as she looked over the deep range transmitter with awe. Reports and records were an important part of their life, it seemed. Everything was to be documented. Everything detailed, from mission beginning to mission end. ArcJet systems seemed worth a second visit, especially given the bountiful cache of functioning old world technology within those walls.

_Too bad Rhys was taking such a positive mission outcome as a personal slight._

Or perhaps the Knight’s sour mood was in direct correlation to the fact that Righteous Authority sat propped up against a green ammunitions box nearest Gladen’s feet. The laser weapon now belonged to the stranger rather than their senior officer. A noble gift from the commander after leaving the ArcJet facility.

There had been few words after they had made it out of the synth-filled building, mostly those of appreciation and gratitude for the assistance. However, along with those words had been the offering of the mighty laser weapon as thanks. It was powerful. Accurate. It possessed several modifications that had been made by Paladin Danse himself, an apparent aficionado with Brotherhood weapons and gear.

It was  certainly an incredible weapon, one he had favoured heavily. It had been the workhorse of their mission’s success, wielded by a man who used it as an extension of himself. It had a distinct lack of duct tape, unlike her own rifle, and he had been adamant she take it. There had been attempts to refuse it at first, but he had insisted with a genuine tone.

It was one of the nicest gestures Gladen could remember.

_Especially out here. Especially in a world such as this._

Had he made the offer because they had made it out alive, against so many synths? Perhaps, in some way, he had felt in debt to her? There had been a few moments where the odds were stacking increasingly against them, yet they had made it out alive. Or was it because he felt sorry for her rag-tag assortment of provisions? Perhaps he had offered the weapon in hopes that the rusted equipment she was utilizing now wouldn’t be the only weapon she’d rely on in the future?

Either way, Rhys was making it openly known that there was immediate and ongoing dislike of the stranger in his midst. After ignoring her for a time, the Knight decided to once more approach.

“So you decided to stay, huh?” the Knight spat with distain after stewing for a length of time, unable to hold back any longer. The remark brought the woman’s gaze to him, whereupon he mustered a defensive scowl. “I expected you to take your payment and run.”

“Not everyone wants to wander the Commonwealth alone,” she responded evenly, attempting not to bait the distraught man further. Haylen had tended to his head wound, but perhaps that was one reason for his sour mood.

 _Concussions made people irritable,_ she knew.

That, and she was tired.

_Best to avoid a verbal punching match this late in the day._

“Well, it’s going to take a lot more than one mission to impress me,” Rhys challenged with bitterness.

“Rhys, that’s enough,” barked Paladin Danse, noticing the situation within his squad.  
  
The younger man flinched, mouth closing as he mustered a final look at the woman. Seeking to busy himself, the Knight grunted what appeared to be an apology towards his superior and then made his way to an adjacent room. There was effort made to not so much as look at the stranger for some time afterwards.

“Have you made your decision?” queried the taller man, still garbed in power armor.

Green eyes lifted from the now-cold Cram to regard the ranking soldier. They weren’t bad people, from what could be seen. A far cry from many of the outlandish characters, raiding and pillaging various encampments and settlements unchecked. A welcome change from the timid folk that cowered behind falling ruins and threw bricks at any who got too close.

Upon receiving Righteous Authority, he had also offered her a spot as a recruit within their ranks. It had been a generous offer, on top of receiving the weapon, of course. Paladin Danse had answered some further questions on their way back including detailing about who the Brotherhood was, their purpose in the Commonwealth and what that might mean to join up. He expressed with sincerity she showed great promise.

Sanctuary held little interest beyond nostalgia and a familiar sense of having a place to call home. Preston was there now, along with his group of close friends. Away from the Raiders. Off the beaten track. It would suit them well.

_Would it be a good fit for her, though?_

“Paladin Danse,” she began, wanting to be honest before making a decision. “Can we talk privately for a moment?”

At first the senior officer looked confused by the statement. Or perhaps it was caution.

“Alright,” he agreed, inviting the potential Initiate to join him on the front steps of the police station rather than continue this avenue of discussion inside.

Outside was cool.

Everything was eerily quiet when compared to the old world. No cars. No sirens. No streetlights flickering to life at 8pm every evening just after the news had finished.

 

_Everything was different now._

 

Not far off, Codsworth was dutifully dragging ghoul bodies and leftover parts to a less intrusive area, rather than having them lay about making a mess of the place. It had given the poor Handy bot a much-needed cleaning task to fulfill. He had seemed nearly chipper at the assignment. Cleaning was, after all, the majority of his programming.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” Paladin Danse asked, tone direct as he watched the Handy bot work in his peripherals.

After the events at ArcJet, no doubt the officer was tired as well. Operating power armor was a taxing endeavor. Gladen could sympathize after operating her own set for a length of time. A more basic design, but it still required some level of effort. Given the amount of traveling they had done that night, the amount of stairs climbed and facing off against so many synths, she was realizing the man before her must be exhausted after all that.

“I need to ask,” she decided to say it plainly, “if this doesn’t work for me, if I decide this is something I don’t want to be a part of anymore, am I able to leave?”

It must have been an unusual question. It drew a look of concern from the commanding officer, who struggled to make sense of the logic behind it.

“Look,” Gladen said with a softer tone. “I’m not from here. I’m from Sanctuary, kind of. I’m new here. New to a lot more than I let on. I don’t know what most things are out here. I’ve only met a handful of people so far. I’m really not sure what’s beyond Sanctuary, or even Cambridge. I’m playing my cards as I go, but honestly, I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I’m not sure even what I’m doing half the time. All I know is… your group seems pretty on top of the way things are out here. You seem to be good people. Maybe there is something to that. Maybe that beats sitting around at a settlement, waiting for who knows what. All I know is that, when I left the Vault, things weren’t anything like what I thought they would be.”

Confusion and skepticism swiftly changed to a distinct look of surprise from the ranking officer. Eyes widened noticeably as he regarded the woman in his company.

“You’re a Vault dweller?” he asked with a tone that was no longer challenging.

She blinked in astonishment.

“You know about Vaults?” she countered instead, equally taken aback.

“To a degree,” he explained, features losing their stony exterior, replaced with curiosity. “They’re typically filled with old world tech. Not always easy to locate. Even more difficult to infiltrate. You’re from one?”

Mind wanted to tell him more, to blurt the words out, to tell the story of waking up with nothing but ice in her veins. Of trembling so badly she fell to the floor and was unable to move at first. Of Nate. Of Shaun. Of how horrible it had all been. Lower lip was chewed on slightly in thought before answering.

“Vault 111,” the strange woman replied instead. Mind drew back to the hell that was that underground prison. Cattle lead to a slaughter. A delayed death by cold rather than the heat of a radioactive explosion.

_Were all Vaults like that?_

“Do you… do you see people from Vaults often?” she dared ask.

“No,” he admitted, rubbing the stubble of his chin idly. “Not very often at all. Most don’t come to the surface. A lot of Vaults have been discovered solely by chance. Not… many are still active. Not often there is anybody left to question as a result. Just records. Archives. Historical documents. Tech. You’re really from a Vault?”

A grim nod.

“I suppose that would explain a few things,” he remarked offhandedly, although not offensively so.

There was a unique way in which the strange woman interacted with the world around her. It had been unusual, he’d noticed from the beginning, but it had not been clear why. Suddenly, the cautious behavior made sense. The dedicated observations she had been making. The few questions that had left her lips.

 _Everything must still be new_ , he thought.

“How long have you been on the surface?”

“27 days. So, just shy of a month,” Gladen answered, having to double-check with a quick bit of mental math.

Brows rose high for a moment, realizing just how new this surface dweller really was to the world.

“I’m surprised how well you’ve faired. I imagine life out here must be incredibly different from what you are used to,” he said, mind working at how best to proceed.

_If only he knew how true that statement really was…_

“You showed promise even when things got tough out here. You kept your cool, did your job and did more than most would. It made sense to offer you a position within our ranks,” the armored man said honestly, tone once again possessing a ring of authority. “If you would like the opportunity to stay with us then you are welcome to it. If you should decide this isn’t what you want, or if you are unsure, then I will personally see to it that you are given the option to leave without repercussion.”

She considered the options carefully.

_Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Perhaps… it would give her answers. Or, at the very least, a purpose._

“I’m serious,” he offered as an afterthought. “I’ve never met a Vault dweller before. At least not openly so. I appreciate that you felt comfortable enough to tell me, and I thank you for your honesty about it. There will be many things about this world you might not understand. With guidance, perhaps the Brotherhood could assist you during your acclimation period. You may be a Vault dweller, but you held your own against completely foreign elements in a hostile environment with unfamiliar gear. That, in my books, shows that you have a clear aptitude for it. With some training, there is no doubt you would do very well out here.”

Passion. It oozed from these folk with every word. Rhys, even with his scarcely checked anger, was passionate about his team. Scribe Haylen had practically swooned as the sought tech had been brought to her. Paladin Danse was a stony figure, but a leader. His expression was often unreadable, tone always treading the edge of coming across too harsh and possessing an imposing presence. He looked out for his team, that much was clear. They were his reason for pushing the way he did.

“I’ll join you,” the strange woman finally decided after several minutes had crawled by.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Paladin said with a nod, appearing pleased by the choice. “For now, let us keep this discussion and its nature between the two of us. Vaults are a delicate matter. Vault dwellers even more so. You were wise in keeping such a detail on a need-to-know basis. As commanding officer, I appreciate and understand. There are others out there in this world who would be less kind. Be mindful of that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welcome to the Brotherhood, Initiate,” he said formally, offering an open hand.


	4. Outside the Vault: Day 36

Initiate Gladen Reed, formerly known as Gladen Smith, had picked up a couple of assignments from Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen after initiation into the Brotherhood. Despite discovering her origins as a Vault dweller, nothing had really changed as far as treatment from the commanding officer went. It was business as usual following their discussion. Familiar and respectful tone that spoke heavily to his military influence. Clear and concise directions were given without hand-holding or apparent leniency.

Rhys was still giving the cold shoulder, of course. The only times he would speak was in direct response to mission operatives or duties. There was no small talk, nor fake pleasantries.

Scribe Haylen was much more welcoming. A new recruit opened the options for new discussions, story-swapping and research. There was some disappointment when Initiate Reed was unable to relay too many details about her past, but fortunately, the Scribe was not the type to pry too hard. Their coexistence was comfortable and easy. A few tips had even been offered by Jess Haylen with regards to dealing with the defensive Rhys, intentions well-meaning. As a result, the new recruit had even made an effort to try and talk to the glaring man on a few occasions. A chance for them to set their differences aside and work better as a team, perhaps.

She probably would have had more luck teaching a Mirelurk to play poker than to make friends with Knight Rhys.

The small missions were simple and should have been moderately easy to accomplish without a full team. Low on bodies as they were, the tasks were given to the newest recruit to fulfill. Their Scribe comrade was deeply interested in pre-war technology. Recent reports had come from HQ about several locations around the Commonwealth. Each boasted a level of interest, and one seemed a suitable task to assign the solo newbie. Hostile threat was low, and the building was straightforward to navigate.

Knight Rhys’ orders had been a bit more direct. It was as if he knew how much she detested feral ghouls and assigned her to clear out an area known to be full of them. Reed was tasked to ‘deal with’ the local infestation before Scribes were dispatched to the area.

Neither made mention of her past. Neither made any indication that they knew she was inexperienced in areas beyond their current reach. It made things easier. Perhaps it would take a little longer to complete the missions, to find a groove, to locate these areas, but at least there weren’t any pitied looks from the ones that gave the assignments. No coddling.  

She was grateful for that.

Instead of heading right into the fray, the Vault survivor decided to stop in at Sanctuary and let them know what had transpired in Cambridge. No sense in disappearing for weeks on end without an explanation and causing undue worry with the already jumpy settlers that had been befriended there. Plus, power armor. If she was to be going alone, it would be going alone with some sense of protection and artillery.

It was a relief to be home, even if it was just for a short stop. Preston took the time to give her some great insight, and she was thankful for his perspective. He talked a bit more about what he knew of The Brotherhood, about the good and bad he had heard. Fortunately, he never pressured her either way. He instead made references to their own cause, a few settlements that could use a visit and assistance if the opportunity ever arose. Gladen had put their locations into her Pip-Boy.

Settlements seemed a passion for Preston, General of the Minutemen. There was potential to do good there, if someone were to do the leg work to see to these people in need.

“You e’er heard’o Diamond City?” Sturges asked, watching her gear up. Coveralls were somewhat dusty from pulling walls and reinforcing new ones. A main house had been set up for most of the residents while they dealt with one repair and upgrade at a time. A functional community area. Somewhere safe. It was a start.

“I’ve seen the radio station broadcast from that place. What is it?” she’d asked, remembering the familiar pre-war tunes they were apt to play in a loop. A little piece of history once again. Something even the bombs couldn’t take away entirely.

“It’s a good settlement to resupply. All manner o’ traders end up there. Lots of folk comin’ and goin’. Might be something you’re lookin’ for. People swap stories all the time. If ya keep your ears open, might just be something you can use. Keep to the alleys and keep it stealthy, young lady,” he’d said with his drawl, pulling the toothpick from his lips and pointing it at her meaningfully. “Them areas been a source o’ fighting for many a year. Raiders, Super mutants, them wild mongrels and the like. You watch your back, ya? Ain’t no good gettin’ dead if you don’t hafta.”

She appreciated the advice, and promised to be careful.

Gladen Reed successfully geared up, refilled her supplies and began the trek South. T-45 hummed with a fully intact and operational power core. It was a slightly cumbersome piece of equipment, but it would serve its specific purpose. After seeing what the world contained, be damned if she was about to wander the wasteland in just a fashionable blue jumpsuit and pipe pistol. Righteous Authority was held within an armored grasp.

Protected as she was, it was a glorious moment of confidence against this harsh world.

_Perhaps it wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought._

* * *

Sturges hadn’t been joking about getting to Diamond City.

The downtown core was filled with life. Hostile, angry life. Once the downtown core began to loom before her, it had been a whole new ballgame. The sound of bullets echoed down each street. Barricades made a mess of nearly every avenue, turning the roads and buildings into some type of chaotic and deadly maze. Crude warning signs were posted everywhere. Some were spelled correctly. Others not so much. Many were just symbols of poorly drawn figures and yellow splatters to represent explosions.

_Pleasant._

Just as she thought she had reached Diamond City, a looming bag of meat would be right around the corner.

 _Not dealing with Super mutants today,_ she thought to herself and methodically backed away, taking care with each echoing step to not reveal her presence.

It had taken far more hours than anticipated to get to the inner settlement. It had been walking, followed by backtracking, followed by a brief skirmish, then more walking. Repeat. Naturally, a radstorm had rolled in while this was all unfolding. Rain and fog mixed with radioactive swells of wind had added a distinct ambiance to the experience.

The settlement loomed out of the mirk with a clear line of sight to its entrance. A beacon in the grey. Flashing lights marked the stadium without question. She’d nearly run to the entrance, but managed to maintain a calm composure. There would be enough attention garnered with the arrival of someone in power armor, that much was almost certain.

And so Gladen sat in front of Takahashi, eating the markedly enjoyable noodles that he was serving. It felt good to have something warm for a change. The fact the meal tasted delicious was a delightful bonus. It sure beat eating cold tinned food with a fork in a collapsing building as she kept watch all by herself now.

“Nani ni shimasu ka?” Takahashi repeated, stirring his noodle pot.

Her metallic Handy bot butler had been left in the care of Preston Garvey back at Sanctuary. Codsworth was far too talkative for his own good to be on this kind of venue. Especially if she needed to utilize stealth. It seemed to be a good decision, given the amount of people here that the metallic creation would have been able to socialize with.

So far, Diamond City had been interesting. A reporter named Piper had helped her get in past security questioning, and caused a bit of a stir for doing so. Gladen had slipped away shortly after that. No sense in getting caught up with drama right away. Not until she had her supplies and bearings, at least. Seemed the reporter had a knack for spotting newcomers. Given that this one had arrived in a suit if power armor, it had been like a moth to a flame.

Fortunately, there was no sign of the chatty lady at the noodle stand. Gladen ate in peace, all the while wishing for feeling to come back to chilled toes.

Rumor was that there was a detective in town named Nick. Nick Valentine. He apparently had a knack for finding people, and answers. Seemed like a decent enough guy. Nobody really had anything bad to say about him, which was actually rather surprising. Usually word on the street was some bad, some good, depending on a person’s perspective. Not Nick. Everyone seemed okay with him. It was enough for Gladen to take the claims with a grain of salt.

Diamond City was overwhelming when compared to the simple existence of other settlements. A drone of sound continued at all hours, like it had a life of its own. Voices and generators created a distinct hum of activity, much unlike the silence of the outskirts. The citizens inside were jumpy and spooky, just like the settler’s back at Sanctuary. A few had taken notice of the newcomer, but no one stopped to talk openly to the stranger as she ate. Helmet sat on the countertop of the noodle stand as she finished her meal. The rest of her form was still protected by the thick outer shell of the power armor. First impressions were important nowadays, especially if it encouraged others to leave her be.

_A detective with a knack for finding missing persons._

Maybe her luck in this messed up world was taking a better turn.

_Maybe he could help her find Shaun._

_Shaun._

A part of the mother wanted to frantically run the Commonwealth, searching every rock, tree, cave and building for her little boy. Her baby. Fortunately, the logical part of her mind overruled that motherly insanity. It was temporarily put aside, although with great difficulty.

Logic chimed in.

First, the surface world was an entirely different place than in 2077. Caution needed to be taken. Care with each endeavor. Everything was unforgiving, and if she rushed off into a dangerous situation, she’d face the consequences. Gladen was of no use to anybody if she were dead.

Second, the odds of anybody knowing anything about a lost infant would be slim to none. If they had even taken him above ground. Chances were, even if someone knew anything about it, they wouldn’t just come out and talk about it.

Third… she didn’t know how long she had been in cryostasis after they had shot Nate. It felt like just minutes, but what if it had been days, weeks, months… years?

_Oh god, what if it had been years? Decades?_

Codsworth had recalled the passage of time. Approximately 210 years, give or take.

_What if they had taken Shaun after only a few years?_

_What if they had shot Nate and taken Shaun, only to leave her frozen for nearly a century after?_

_What if he was grown? What if he had already died of old age?_  
  
What if he hadn’t made it out of the Vault, and she’d simply been unable to find his infant body during her panic?

Gladen set the empty bowl down, groaning at her insufferable internal dialog. It was so hard to sleep these days. An hour or two at best before jolting awake in a cold sweat.

No longer with a gnawing empty gut and with a renewed sense of warmth returned to her bones, the wandering stranger struck out in search of Nick Valentine’s detective agency. Given the walls that surrounded this place, once a mighty baseball stadium, it shouldn’t take much time to locate. One of the Diamond City guards was kind enough to point her in the right direction. He sported some pristine pre-war aviators that were silver, shiny and free of scratches. Excellent condition. It was rather nice seeing the little things that reminded her of life before. There were traces of it everywhere. The old world was gone, sure, but certainly not forgotten.

After a few wrong turns, Gladen believed she’d found the location. A hole in the wall. Just like everything else in the Commonwealth these days.

_Fitting._

“Hello?” she called out, knocking. No response. A hand reached for the doorknob experimentally. It was unlocked. Hopefully it meant the office was open and she wouldn’t be shot for entering.

“Oh look, another stray coming in from the rain. ‘Fraid you’re too late. Office is closed,” said a well-dressed lady pouring over some files. By the looks of her puffy red eyes, streaked cheeks and smudged bit of makeup, she’d been crying.

“Are you alright?” Gladen asked reflexively.

“No, I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave,” the office woman said with an edge of frustration. She briskly closed a filing cabinet with a metallic slam.

“I didn’t come all this way just to get brushed off,” Gladen insisted, tone a bit sharp.

“Well you can take a seat and wait until the next Armageddon, because the detective ain’t coming back. He’s gone missing.”

_Fuck._

Nick was one of the few leads. A small bit of hope.

_So close._

“Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help,” the Vault dweller switched tone, suddenly being thrown a curve ball. If there was ever a chance to get answers this might be her only shot.

Ellie sighed.

“It’s Skinny Malone and his goons,” she said, face twisting in disgust. “I told him to be careful! I warned him! Damn them. Thinking they’re all safe holed up in some Vault. Why I ought to…!”

_A Vault?_

“Where is this place? Who is Skinny Malone?”

“I know where it is, but not sure how to get Nick back,” Ellie wiped at her eyes, torn between sadness and anger. “Skinny is a good for nothing gangster. Took Nick hostage. After all he did for him…”

“Show me,” Gladen insisted, pulling out her Pip-Boy.

It had a detailed map of the downtown core, although much of the data was from pre-war information. Some buildings no longer existed. Routes were blocked off in reality, but appeared clear on the map. With some luck, Ellie might have been able to point the desperate woman in the right direction.

Ellie looked skeptical at first.

“I need Nick’s help,” the strange woman explained, tone softening. “Maybe I can help get him back. Show me, and I’ll see what I can do about dealing with Skinny Malone.”

_Whoever that asshole was._

“The Vault is underground,” the Ms. Perkins explained. Cautiously, a finger reached out and touched an approximate location on the green-and-black glowing map that was offered. “Somewhere around there. Its in the subway. Gotta go down underground to get to it.”

It was one thing trying to escape from a Vault. It was quite another to have to break back into one.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find him,” she’d said, voice developing an uncharacteristically hardened edge.

Tracking down a missing person so that they could help find a missing person. The irony was not lost on the wayward woman.

With that, Initiate Reed ventured back out into the fucking rain.


	5. Outside the Vault: Day 37

Vault 114, the one that Skinny Malone was occupying, had been hidden away in the local subway system with its confusing series of twists and turns. Not to mention the collapsed tunnels that made it nearly impossible to find the first try. It would have been easy to all but miss the entrance with the way they had constructed it tucked back against the bedrock.

Gunmen had been stationed all over, and not of the friendly type. Dressed in suits, they were reminiscent of old world gangsters. Just like Ms. Perkins had described. Fedoras and shiny shoes looked top notch. Jackets even appeared pressed, which was odd and out of place for a post-apocalyptic world. It seemed a sorry thing to engage with such human enemies, but once the intruding woman was spotted they opened fire from all directions. Gladen had barely set foot within the subway station before the alarm was raised, let alone the Vault itself.

_Thugs, the lot of them._

Pressed suits may have been fashionable in taste, but they did little to protect against flying bits of hot lead or laser rounds. At one point, the woman in power armor even paused, wondering if coming in with guns blazing was worth it.

_Was human life truly this fickle? Were they really brash enough to engage with anyone who set foot in their territory? What if she had just wanted to make a deal?_

_Caps could buy some things_ , as she had learned.

“I just want to talk!” she called out.

More bullets.

“Arg!” she said in frustration. “I’m serious!”

It was no use. There was no negotiating with these particular goons.

_So be it._

They fell easily.

Vault 114 looked strange by comparison. Much different from Vault 111. Construction equipment lay all around at various stages of completion with their task. An unfinished entrance that seemed only a set of stairs and scaffold lead to the external access panel. It was a Vault, after all. A thing of nightmares in her mind. But, predictable with a few of its integral qualities. Fortunately, the massive geared door was already ajar and would not rise the alarm by being opened. It, too, looked identical to Vault 111, save only for the different number. Once inside, her heart raced with a wave of unwelcome anxiety.

_Would there be bodies of the dead in this one too?_  
  
Fortunately, it was only Skinny Malone and his gang of misfits that filled this particular hideaway.

There were many rooms. Rooms not like the ones seen in Vault 111. There had been beds here, meant to be slept in by the occupants. Living quarters for families. Small and dismal facilities to be shared in a common area, but facilities nevertheless. No cryopods. No massive generators. No skeletons dressed in lab coats littering the ground.

Mind reeled.

_Was this what Vaults were supposed to be like? Why was Vault 111 so different? Why had they been the ones frozen?_

A part of her wished to explore the facility to its very depths, to explore all of the secrets this particular Vault held. A type of haunting curiosity. A part of her wishing to know more of the ‘why’ behind Vault-Tec and its actions. Perhaps there would be answers here. Even as strong as that desire was to delve into any records found, a totally different part of her wanted nothing more to do with the company and the horrors it had dealt the world.

“Leave and I won’t shoot,” she tried to yell down a rusted hallway. Armored footsteps had dutifully carried her deeper within the facility.

Gunfire came as the only reply.

They all fell before her. Simple gunmen. Grunts to do the heavy lifting for those that hid behind their troops. It was a shame. Gladen did not enjoy the feeling of walking past human bodies as they leaked crimson onto the rusted and peeling tile floor. Such a waste. Fancy striped suits were now splashed with artistic red that blossomed like morbid flowers on their lapels.

* * *

A man was standing in front of the Overseer’s office window as she approached. His voice bellowed loudly.

“How you doin’ in there Valentine?”

“Keep talkin’, meathead,” a different voice countered immediately. “Gives Skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s going to bump you off.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Valentine,” the man outside the room gestured obscenely, passing the time by mocking their hostage.

“Yeah? You sure ‘bout that? Seen him writing your name down in that black book of his. ‘Lousy cheatin’ card shark’ I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times.”

The booming voice no longer sounded quite so high and mighty.

“Wait, three strikes?” it quivered ever so perceptibly. “In the black book? But… I never…”

“You been cheatin’ again, Dino? He warned you about that,” the smooth-talking voice tsked softly.

“Shit. You serious? He knew?” the gangster paled. “Fuck! I gotta go talk to him!”

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” Gladen interrupted, audio relay over her power armored helmet distorting the voice just slightly. Righteous Authority held the stranger’s bulbous head in its iron sights with ease. With the bickering, none had noticed her approach from the stairs.

“The hell are you?” the gangster said, spinning as he reached for a holstered weapon.

Gladen fired a warning shot that hissed past the man. He screamed, clutching a laser-scorched ear.

“Next one goes into your skull,” she warned carefully.

“What do you want?” he yelled, pulling his bloodied hand away to look at how much was leaking. It wasn’t bad. Most of the wound had cauterized as the round had pierced and then exited the flap of skin and cartilage.

“That Valentine in there?” distorted audio indicated, helmet nodding towards the Overseer’s office.

Plaid-suit nodded.

“Open it up.”

“Malone will kill me if he finds out I opened that door,” he countered, clearly stalling. Panicked eyes looked frantically about. It was apparent this gentleman was not the smartest chap in the group, obviously trying to buy time for a plan of sorts. A not-so-stealthy hand once again reached for his weapon. It was hoisted up, a few rounds peppering off against the steel hull of the stranger before him.

Fortunately for the woman, he aimed exclusively at the thickest part of the chest plate.

Initiate Reed sighed regretfully, and pulled her own trigger in turn. Once. Twice. On the second, the man named Dino finally fell. A leg twitched helplessly as the void in his skull filled with blood.

_At least it had been quick._

“Dammit. Why don’t you people ever listen?” she said to the limp form, watching the muscles dance in death.

“He’s got a key on his body,” a voice from inside the room offered helpfully.

The intel was good. There was a key. It saved from having to smash through the glass, an effort the armored woman had not really wanted to partake in after such a long day. Hydraulic door hoisted open with a mechanical breath. The Overseer’s office was dark, but appeared relatively clean for the most part. It was in a better state that the rest of Vault 114, which had been filled with construction debris and all manner of storage boxes everywhere. Had Vaults not given the woman the heebie-jeebies, it would have been worth it to venture through the cases for additional supplies.

A startling discovery nearly caused Reed to shoot the detective out of reflex. Unintentionally, of course. Laser rifle rose instinctively at seeing the synth. After all, the last handful of encounters with the mechanical beings had been rather unpleasant.

It turns out Nick was a synth.

_Who knew?_

Metallic-and-synthetic hands lifted submissively, unarmed. This particular synth wore a duster, and a classic tan fedora. Eyes glowed yellow in the dim light.

“Easy there,” he said with a distinct and familiar accent. It was as if he had lived in Boston all his life. “Careful where you point that thing.”

Green eyes blinked in confusion.

“You’re… you’re Nick?”

Nobody made mention of it, so Gladen had naturally assumed he was a human. It was especially odd that he was living in Diamond City. There was absolutely no denying he was a synth, yet the city proclaimed to hate synths and muttered about distrust and hatred of them. Talk of a mysterious organization called The Institute normally went hand-in-hand with the subject of synths, and most of those conversations took on hushed tones as if fearful. No one in Diamond City had any love for synths, it seemed. In that, the detective’s involvement made no sense. They spoke highly of the resident synth whenever his name had come up.

_This world made less and less sense every damn day._

“In the flesh,” he wise-cracked, clearly joking at his own expense. “I don’t believe we’ve met. To whom do I owe this… I assume… rescue? Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. I suppose the real question is, why would a heroine like yourself risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

“What… are you?”

He rolled twin glowing eyes with a dramatic flair. “Told you. I’m a detective. Look, I know the skin and the metal parts ain’t comforting, but it’s not important right now. The only thing that matters is why you went to all this trouble to cut me loose. At least, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.”

“I’m trying to track someone,” she answered truthfully, mind thrown for a loop. “Someone murdered my husband and stole my child. I don’t have a clue who he is, where he might be or where to look. I was told you had a knack for this kind of thing, and I’m not about to walk away from that kind of chance.”

“So, you need a little angel of vengeance, huh? Well, I don’t usually go after blood money, but I guess I can make an exception,” the detective lowered his hands, rummaged in a pocket and eventually lit a cigarette. Metallic fingers held the stick with a delicate grace. “I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn’t kidnapped after all. Hell, she’s Skinny Malone’s new flame. Girl’s got a mean streak too. I’d be more than happy to get out of here. You got troubles by the sounds of it, and I’d be glad to help if I can. Let’s say we blow this joint. Then, we’ll talk.”

He seemed remarkably human. Were it not for the pieces of missing skin, the unusual sheen to the synthetic flesh and the glowing nature of the expressive eyes, it might have even passed for human at one point. Mannerisms, even the tone on words. Heck, Nick even had an accent.

_The world was a strange place._

“I’ll take any bit of help I can get,” she said, although still a touch nervous.

_Did this mean there were good synths as well as hostile ones? What were the differences?_

“Plus, I told Ms. Perkins I’d bring you back. I like to make good on my word.”

“That works in my favour for sure. A rescue and a job offer all in one day? Looks like things are looking up for ole Nick,” the detective responded, straightening his duster.

Gladen took a liking to the unusual fellow right away, synth or not. Despite being a mechanical marvel, Mr. Valentine had an interesting sense of humor. Not to mention a knack for handling a pistol. Both made their escape that much easier.

They had neared the entrance, but before reaching it, stumbled into Malone and his crew. A rag-tag group of ruffians. Wanna-be gangsters that dressed the part, talked a big game and ended up looking more like schoolyard bullies than organized crime. Standing with Skinny was the little whiny tramp that had knocked the poor synth around a bit the past few weeks with a baseball bat.

_Classy lady._

“Nicky? What’re you doin? You come into my house. Shoot up my guys. You knew we couldn’t just let you leave after that. You owe me a ton of caps after breaking in here. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?” Skinny Malone barked, fingers wrapped around a drum-fed machine gun.

The detective sneered.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often. Then this wouldn’t be a problem and I’d have never gotten involved.”

A shrill tone cut through the male voices. It was like saw blades tumbling in a cement mixer. How Malone could stand that woman’s voice was anyone’s guess.

“Aww… poor little Valentine,” the black-haired woman mocked. “Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I’ll just run back home to daddy, shall I? I told you we should’ve just killed him, Skinny. You had to go and get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’.”

“Darla, I’m handling this! Skinny Malone’s always got things under control!” the apparent ‘mob boss’ flexed, casting a sharp look at his beloved.

“Yeah, then what’s this person doing here, huh? Valentine must have brought her here to rub us all out!”

“Guess I know who wears the pants around here,” Gladen remarked offhandedly, leveling her own weapon and holding it in ready hands. A few of the mobsters flinched, their own weapons trained on the duo. “Just to be perfectly clear, I’m not here to rub anybody.”

The detective huffed a note of laughter at the remark.

“You shut your mouth,” Malone barked. “You just waltz up in here like you own the place! I ain’t scared of you. I’m king of this Vault. This is my castle. You don’t get to come in and do as you please.”

“Darla, you should really just go home,” Nick tried once more to help the situation.

Tensions ran tight.

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way out of this one! We should’ve killed you when we had the chance. Let’s get ‘em, Skinny!” the shrill-talking woman in the embellished dress cried. Delicate arms picked up the baseball bat she was carrying and swung it at Gladen with a seriously deranged expression.

“You really should’ve just walked, Darla,” the Initiate said. Armor was able to withstand being beaten around by a Deathclaw to a degree. A wooden baseball bat was nothing more than an annoying vibration against the external structure. Armored hand closed around the offending melee weapon, wrenching it free with ease and tossing it to the side.

Darla tumbled with it, crying out with indignation.

Bullets lit up the immediate area from both Skinny Malone and his triggermen.

Nick fired back. So, too, did Reed at that point.

It was a shame. Nearly the entire population of the world had been depleted, and now even more lives were lost to petty quarrels and inflated egos. One of the triggermen fell. Darla desperately crawled over, picked up the fallen weapon and swung to aim it at the detective.

  
**Bang.**

 

The shrill woman slumped and was silent.

Gladen tried not to take any pleasure in the kill. A moral part continued to be hopeful that there were better people in the world than this lot. Killing Raiders and Super mutants was one thing. Taking out average people was something different entirely. They might have been ‘bad people’ in a sense, but nobody was entirely ‘good’ anymore either. An internal moral conflict waged. Expression settled into neutral observation behind her visor.

_Best not to think about it._

“You okay?” she asked, helmet turning to regard the person she had come to rescue.

Nick glanced down in assessment, then gave a nod.

“I think so. Let’s get out of here before any more trouble finds us,” he said.

Gladen couldn’t agree more.

* * *

Getting back to Diamond City was an event all its own.

Super mutants. Raiders. Wild dogs. Mutant hounds. Dead ends. Hostiles. Debris.

_The usual._

It was helpful to have Nick along. A local that knew the streets like the back of his synthetic hand by now. Still, there were a few scuffles and quick getaways. Nothing major. Nothing the duo couldn’t handle or escape from. Both parties were relieved to be outside once more, no longer trapped away in some Vault. They skirted around the Super mutant bases and outposts as best they could, not wanting to stir up that particular nest of anger without some proper gear or larger caliber equipment. Nick’s pipe pistol was effective, but perhaps not against such large angry foes. Power armor might have been an ideal choice for this mission, but even it could only handle so many RPG rounds before losing hull integrity.

Shining city gates loomed up before them after a time. Safety. Walls. Lights. Maybe even a place to turn in for the evening. All of those things sounded wonderful right about then. Even the guards seemed happy to see Nick unhurt.

_A city that hates synths happy to see one come back._

_Did this world make any sense?_

Ellie was practically smitten to see her employer returned safe and sound, if a little battered. She even rewarded Gladen with a few caps and a gush of gratitude.

_Nice girl._ _Much better than that Darla broad._

“Alright. Let’s get down to business,” Nick said as they all settled back into his office. The run-down place somehow suited the detective. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. When you’re trying to find someone that’s gone missing, the devil is in the details. Tell me everything you can… no matter how painful it might be.”

Nick’s tone was sympathetic, yet direct.

They had chatted quite a bit on the walk back already. Gladen learned more about the synth, his home in Diamond City, his occupation and a bit about where he came from, or rather, where he thought he came from. He, in turn, learned a bit more about Ms. Reed and what had led her to track him down in Vault 114. His sense of humor had lightened the mood significantly.

_Little wonder why everyone liked Nick._

Despite the chill, her sore shoulder, aching muscles from operating power armor without much practice and a gnawing hunger at the pit of her stomach, the pre-war survivor was more than ready to speak tosomeone about what had transpired in Vault 111.

“I’m not crazy,” she added just before beginning. Surely some of what she was about to discuss would make most people think she’d hit the Jet a few too many times.

Nick regarded her in a serious fashion, tenting his fingertips in dramatic emphasis.

“You’re talking to an AI unit created by a mysterious organization that transferred memories from a pre-war human onto a data disc, uploaded it and created a synthetic version, which you see before you,” he said supportively. “No one here is going to call you crazy, Ms. Reed. I assure you.”

* * *

It was a long night as they poured over the intricate memories of events that took place in Vault 111. The detective asked excellent questions. They went over things multiple times to ensure nothing had been missed or left out. Despite the difficulty in recalling every moment, Nick was incredibly supportive and able to somehow make the process less emotionally trying. It was obvious why he had come so highly recommended. Ms. Perkins jotted down notes with a practiced hand, offering feedback whenever the detective tried to recall details from previous cases.

By the end of the lengthy tale, the synthetic man sat in deep contemplation.

“Not too many kids around these days. Radiation has a pretty nasty affect on the replenishment rate of the populace, I’m afraid,” he said after a time, Boston accent heavy. “The few you do see are in the less radiated areas, out on farmsteads or the outreaches. Not many families travel either. For obvious reasons, of course. Too dangerous. Suppose that’s why those traveling with children are often memorable. It’s unusual, you see.

“Now, it could be nothing, or it could be something. There was a man that lived here in Diamond City a while back. Showed up one day out of the blue. Had a kid with him. Kid couldn’t have been more than ten years old, give or take. They didn’t stay long. Maybe a couple of weeks. Kept to themselves for the most part. Guy looked pretty grizzled. Hard around the edges, you know? Not really the fatherly kind of figure. Come to think of it, nobody has taken up residence of that place ever since they left. What’s say you and I take a wander up there? Not saying its your kid or anything. Just that it might be worth a second look. Better to find dead ends than miss a crucial detail or possible lead.”

_It was a start._

It was something. It was finally doing something. Even if it didn’t turn out, even if they didn’t find anything, at least there was someone else who could help her keep an eye out for the missing part of her former life.

“You want to get some rest before we go up?” the synthetic man offered, realizing the time.

“No,” she pushed up, no longer in power armor. It stood vacant in the detective’s office. She wore simple road leathers beneath all that steel hardware, still visually assertive to a degree. “I’m ready when you are.”

_Ten years old._

Maybe there was some hope that Shaun might still be alive. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a better option than just wandering around the entire Commonwealth calling out Shaun’s name to the wind.


	6. Outside the Vault: Day 43

Initiate Reed threw open the door of the Cambridge Police Station with an unintentional slam. A gust of wind blew in violently behind her, catching the broad surface and announcing her arrival with the resounding noise. Somehow, such an action fit the sour mood that continued to brew deep within. Outside, a radstorm growled like a stray beast as it crawled along the Commonwealth landscape. Echoes of thunder appeared to mock the slamming of the door, as if boasting of a much more impressive prowess by comparison. Onboard Geiger counter crackled with alarm at each flash.

The T-45 armor was slightly damaged and in need of repair. Minor, and a few moderate, items that required attention were a direct result of the recent three missions the newcomer had busied herself with.

One, obtaining the Haptic Drive from the Medford Memorial Hospital for Scribe Haylen. A seemingly simple task. Upon arriving, it had been quite a firefight. More than once, Gladen had reconsidered her devotion to getting inside and retrieving the tech. So anxious had she been to leave that place there had been little consideration with regards to exploring.  Often that was the meticulous task of any excursion, in the interest of both resupplying and obtaining anything that might be of use. The hospital, however, had been left untouched by her hand for favor of the open air instead.

Second, clearing out a ghoul-infested site of interest for Knight Rhys. That particular task had left her covered in irradiated blood. Fortunately, there were no apparent ill-effects from the brief exposure.

Third, Nick had caught word of a merchant group attacked by synths on the surface just before Reed was to depart from Diamond City. It was unusual news. A scouting party that had been scavenging for the group had run for the hills upon discovering the hostile units. Word spread quickly about the encounter, given the taboo nature of discussing synths. The lead had proven fruitful. It was almost as if Kellogg had wanted to be found. For what reason, it was unclear.

They had found him after a time, held up in a large fortified building not far from where the merchants had encountered the synths. Pressing into the defensively-set structure had been a unique kind of hell. It reminded Reed more of a horror film than a real life event unfolding before her. The man, once found, was a puzzle unto himself. Harsh. Rough. He had a personality that was as abrasive as sandpaper. A rogue. A mercenary. Emotionless soldier bent on completing only the requirements of a contract

Business. That was his entire motivating factor in how he existed in the world. It came down to the almighty dollar. Or, rather, cap.  Negotiations had drawn thin almost immediately. Kellogg was not a man of patience. In the end, he recalled the story in detail, almost mockingly so. He had recalled every moment of entering Vault 111. Of shooting Nate. Of taking the infant. Of handing the child over to the Institute. Of being paid. Of continuing on without even a hint of remorse or guilt.

A motherly rage had shaken within her at the tale. Muscles trembled as they screamed for a well-deserved vengeance. She knew he’d been baiting her with the story. She knew the words were meant to draw her ire.

And she allowed the heat to burn within her veins as a direct result.

“Tell me where he is,” Gladen had demanded through clenched teeth, tears spilling.

“He’s not your son anymore,” Kellogg had said. “He doesn’t know you. I doubt he even knows anything about you. Someone else has him now, in a place you’ll never get to in your wildest dreams. And I’ll never cooperate. I can’t get you in. Even if you did find this secret facility, you really think he’d just go with you… a complete stranger?”

Cold. The man was cold. It was a business transaction as far as he was concerned.

Synths attacked from behind in all directions, some physically and some using weapons. Nick and the lone mother were ambushed, distracted by the man in front of them, and quickly fled to cover without hesitation. In the chaos, Kellogg took the opportunity to make a departure of the scene. Reed had shouted, then, calling the man a coward and an asshole.

It had been found on the lower level by chance, left behind perhaps by Raiders long ago. Reed had tripped over the object, and brought it along in case matters got ugly. It had been cumbersome, heavy and lacked any semblance of stealth. Yet, bring it she had and use it she did. Rifle was tossed aside in favor of the Fatman launcher. A miniaturized nuclear payload sat readied and chambered. It was difficult to aim, but that wasn’t as important when dealing with such a high payload weapon. 

The detonation had nearly killed them all as the resulting explosion ripped half the building asunder. Power armor offered protection from the blast and heat. Valentine had ducked behind a wall of concrete, hands instinctively over his head and unconsciously holding onto his fedora. The shockwave loosened the remaining internal supports of the ancient structure, and the duo tumbled as the building fell apart around them.

Nick survived without a dent. Gladen had walked out of the rumble, physically unharmed. 

But, most importantly, Kellogg was dead.

Nick had been paid handsomely for his assistance, above and beyond what had been agreed upon. After all, nearly blowing up the synthetic man in a nuclear explosion had not been discussed as a possibility for the mission.

A sour mood had failed to shake even after the miles and a bit of sleep. It lingered, tormenting the recruit relentlessly with the mocking closure. In truth, Initiate Reed wasn’t quite sure why she’d returned to the Cambridge Police Station. Both mind and body had felt defeated after the details of Shaun’s kidnapping came into the open. Burnt out. At a loss. Heart was but a vacant hole in an armored chest. It barely ached anymore. A piece that had been missing now seemed as if it would never return.

 

_What was left for her here…?_

 

A part of her had died with the loss of Nate in Vault 111. Another part of her had died after killing Kellogg. The woman who had been Mrs. Smith was now utterly gone, replaced instead by some time lost soul that was left wandering the surface of a wounded world without purpose. To face each day henceforth seemed a burden that the woman was unsure she could lift. 

Nick had told her about the Institute. About synths. About this bogeyman of the Commonwealth. Upon finding out they had taken her son, the synthetic man had offered a great deal of sympathy for the mourning mother. He didn’t say it, but the impression was there. Those taken by the Institute were beyond the reach of anyone in the Commonwealth. He didn’t need to say it. Gladen knew.

_Shaun was gone._

There was nothing anyone could do to change that.

The words had nearly spilled from her lips at the peak of her heartache, to beg to be put back in cryo and forgotten forever. To disappear from this world and be gone as well, just like everyone she had known. She didn’t belong here. She should have died long ago.

The words had never come.

Feet continued to push on, and soon carried her here in a daze.

Snapped out of the darkest innermost thoughts at the sound of the crashing door, green eyes lifted from their melancholy to regard the unsettling scene. Eyes blinked. Eyebrows, as well as fingers, rising in innocence. Hands were free of weapons.

 

_Shit._

 

Reed was still wearing the T-45. The Brotherhood squad had no idea who she was, barging in.

That would explain the fact that Paladin Danse stood in full defensive posture, laser rifle stock pressed against an armored shoulder. Finger carefully rested against the trigger guard. Haylen was similarly armed, although utilizing the lobby’s reception desk as cover. Knight Rhys was in a set of T-60, just like Paladin Danse, although it somehow seemed less imposing.

“Sorry,” voice crackled through the audio relay. “Sorry.”

A hand reached up ever-so-slowly to hit the release switch for the fastener, which connected the headgear to the upper body assembly. The other hand remained up submissively, deliberate care taken not to make any sudden movements. No doubt Rhys would take any opportunity to claim a ‘friendly fire’ incident even after realizing who was inside the steel hull. With a hiss, the helmet released. Metal segmented fingers grasped the equipment and pulled it off her head, shaking matted hair away from her face.

“Initiate Reed?” Paladin Danse said with a note of surprise, making a gesture to the others to lower their weapons.

“I forgot I was still wearing this thing,” Gladen explained as she glanced down to regard the helmet. Cool fresh air against exposed skin drew an immediate contrast to how humid and hot that equipment could get after a long trek even with the filter fan within. “I’m sorry if I startled anybody.”

“That’s alright,” he assured, setting aside the laser rifle as the situation remedied itself. “I was unaware you were in possession of a set of power armor. Hence our response. No harm done.”

Rhys took the opportunity to scoff at the reunion.  The Knight busied himself in another part of the station, as if he had been interrupted from some important task at the intrusion.

“I admit I was beginning to wonder as to your status,” the ranking officer continued in a serious tone. “The mission operatives you were given weren’t intended to be a high caliber of difficulty.”

It had been a trying two weeks. Then again, surely the missions would have been completed in a more timely fashion if she hadn’t also been chasing leads across the Commonwealth of her own interest. Sleep had been at a premium, but traveling had still taken time.

The Initiate nodded.

“Challenging but accomplished, sir,” she said, tone surprisingly more confident and apparently alert than the woman actually felt.

 

_What was she doing here…?_

Mind continued to tread darkly.

 

“Outstanding,” Paladin Danse stated. He looked genuinely pleased. “Report to Haylen and Rhys with your findings when you have a moment. We’ll debrief about the rest at a later time.”

Orders. Instruction. Goals. Tasks. While most might have rolled their eyes at authority, Gladen found it to be a welcome change to be given specific direction. Enough decisions had been made out on the wasteland the past several days that mind was worn out from weighing the pros and cons. Instincts were still there, but sluggish. Some rest, and a much needed mental break, was certainly in order.

_Perhaps that was why she came back here instead of wandering off into the wastes hopelessly._

Scribe Haylen was practically gleeful as the Haptic Drive from their archival records settled firmly within her waiting grasp. Expression was like that of a person on Christmas morning receiving a very much wanted gift. Blue-grey gaze immediately began overlooking the piece of equipment with keen interest.

“I hope this wasn’t terribly much trouble to obtain, Initiate,” she was saying cheerfully, although clearly distracted by the old-world tech.

_It had been needlessly difficult._

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Scribe Haylen,” the Vault dweller decided to respond instead. No sense in making a fuss over shoddy intel. The hostile ratio of that region had been approximated far lower than warranted. Next time, Gladen would ensure she was much better equipped. It had been a difficult fight, one not to be repeated.

“This piece is in excellent condition. Perhaps we should send you on missions more often. I’ll pour over my intel. Maybe we can find something else for you to track down,” the scribe said hopefully. “Thank you, Initiate. Come see me later, I may have another mission for you by then.”

“Ad victoriam,” came the traditional reflex response.

Haylen returned to writing up the required paperwork needed for the newly acquired device. If one thing was ever a constant within their company, it was that records were just as much a necessity as posting watches, putting together meals and maintaining ones weapons. It was crucial to their ongoing success and future dependence.

Surely there would be paperwork to be done later by Gladen’s own hand, likely after the full mission debriefing with Paladin Danse. Initiate Reed was not immune to the record-keeping ways, after all. Fortunately, their officer seemed not to be breathing down her neck about it at the time. With a bit of luck, the report writing could wait until tomorrow.

Footsteps hesitated. An internal groan. Rhys. Sour mood continued to spoil her thoughts despite the change in pace and environment. Deep down, the wandering woman knew she was simply overtired, in need of some good food and a long stretch of uninterrupted sleep. Talking to the Knight before that took place was going to be like pulling teeth.

_Best get it over with._

“Knight Rhys,” she said, trying her best to maintain a neutral tone as she ventured over.

He didn’t even look up, “Alright, out with it… What’s your game?”

An impatient nerve tweaked within her resolve.

“For fucks’ sake, Rhys,” she let the words slip. _Must he do this right now?_ “I just can’t win with you, can I?”

“Win? This isn’t some kind of game that you can just decide to play and then leave,” he said scathingly, looking up from his work with an expression that contained both disinterest and disgust. “What, you get what you want and then you’ll just hit the road?”

“Last I remember, it was your team that was in a heap of trouble when I first stumbled upon you here to Cambridge,” she retorted hotly. Eyes narrowed as she took an aggressive step forward, staring up at the taller man as the distance between them closed rapidly. Both were garbed in power armor. Both brought a strong presence.

Reed’s voice dropped low, “If it was supplies I’d wanted, or provisions, or your weapons, I would’ve waited until the ghouls picked you all clean before coming in to scavenge the remains. But, I didn’t, did it? I helped even the odds. You’re all alive, and comfortably resupplied once more. I helped you. I’ve taken nothing from you. Give me a better reason for you to hate me and we can go from there. In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you just let me do my assignments without your constant blathering on about me being some kind of outsider. I’m very aware I’m new to your team. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

Knight Rhys stared evenly at the recruit, eyes blazing with unspoken defensiveness. The Police Station took on an eerie quiet, all parties able to hear the exchange and were intently listening in. Paladin Danse stepped from the opposite room, expression hard. Yet, he did not move immediately to intervene.

“College Square has been cleared of feral ghouls,” she said flatly, not giving Rhys a chance to respond. “If you have anywhere else that requires assistance, I’m ready for the task. Until then, I have gear that needs repair before we continue our mission. Am I free to go, Knight Rhys?”

He stared hard at her for a moment before giving a jerk of his head, “Dismissed.”

_Well, that went better than expected._

Turning on a heel, the pre-war survivor crossed the length of the police station and disappeared into the back room.

* * *

No one was currently using the space, and thus, she decided to be the one to occupy it for the time being. While room arrangements hadn’t been made entirely official, the back room seemed to suffice. Haylen occupied an office to the right of the main door. Rhys as well. Danse’s room appeared to be where they had kept the jail cells before the war. And so, Reed would take the storage area. It was dim, full of clutter and contained more debris than the others. But, it was away from Rhys and that suited her just fine.

Operating the power armor was hot, sweaty and had started to rub her the wrong way many miles ago. No wonder her mood had soured long before reaching the station. It would also help if the gear she wore beneath the equipment were better suited to the plated form as well. Current makeshift armor was a bit of an assortment. Road leathers, with civilian garb beneath. A few crude plates, including one that protected her arm crafted from a Nevada license plate. Leather and metal patches were fine for outside the confines, but once traveling inside the mech, it quickly became uncomfortable.

Paladin Danse wore a strange set of orange-and-cream garments when operating his equipment, much like a jumpsuit or coveralls. While not nearly as hardy as road gear, it looked much more user friendly for lengthy missions inside the mechanical exoskeletons. Perhaps she would ask Scribe Haylen, or Paladin Danse himself, about it later.

Hinges groaned as automatic fasteners began releasing all over the protective armor. Exiting the T-45 always took a few moments, each moving piece coordinating with its neighbor to ensure proper release of the occupant. Glowing fusion core ran in near silence, save perhaps for the slightest of hums that was lost amid the thunder.

Gladen Reed practically melted out of the contraption, holding onto internal components as feet searched for solid ground. It was cool once inside the building at least. The radstorm outside continued to growl, booming aggressively every now and then as if to remind the Commonwealth it was at large. The storm was mostly comprised of gusting winds and radioactive particulates.

Slowly the woman was getting more adept at operating it. While not quite second nature, it was much improved when compared to the beginning. Like anything, it simply took time and effort to develop proficiency. Eventually, the T-45 might even begin to feel like a second skin. It still required a decent amount of human energy to operate fully, and that was taxing. Yet, it served its purpose of offering unquestionable protection in the line of fire. A fair trade.

Legs yielded to gravity as Gladen sank into a cross-legged position on the dusty floor. A wave of defeat settled over the lone figure in the dim room. Bare hands rubbed her tired face for a moment before pressing palms against temples, a headache drumming there since the day before.

 _This fucking world_ , she thought to herself bitterly.

_Always two steps forward, one fucking step back._

Kellogg hadn’t even given her the satisfaction of telling her anything further about her boy, such as if he was well, if he was being taken care of, or even how old.

_Was there any point to any of this anymore?_

With an exhausted body and a racing mind, the idea of sleep was both a beautiful idea and an unlikely concept. No doubt the evening watch had already been drawn between the trio in the other rooms. Even if the choice had not yet been made, it was doubtful that Paladin Danse would approve the road-weary recruit to take up the post.

As there was no sense in needlessly traipsing around in full gear, she removed the non-essentials to give them a chance to dry out. There had been little time for routine care along the way back to Cambridge. Several items would be best left aside to dry out fully before donning again. Rain had soaked her to the core at Diamond City, and everything had been a touch damp from that point onward.

A dry set of clothes were pulled from deep within the canvas gear bag stowed on the power armor, throwing on the civilian garments with gratitude. Old. Wore. Slightly frayed in spots. Wrapped as they were, moisture had not had a chance to intrude. Even though they were not the warmest pieces of clothing, they were dry, which was a far improvement from the wet leather. They were modest and plain. A simple tank top worn beneath a long-sleeved shirt and simple drawstring pants that were a size too big.

Merchants didn’t carry a lot of variety, so a person would take what they and their caps could get.

Being away from the entrance made light somewhat scarce, or rather, mostly indirect. The few bulbs that glowed were left on at all hours. A tiny generator ran dutifully on the roof next to the relay antennae, supplementing the power on an ongoing basis. It was dim, but enough to see and work by.

Gladen sat in the half-dark for a length of time, alone with her thoughts. Other sounds began to drift away as the remaining members of the team slowly turned in for the night. Haylen’s desk lamp had clicked off some time ago. Even the typical sound of Rhys tinkering with some type of equipment was lost. Paladin Danse’s footsteps could no longer be heard traversing about. Likely he had exited his power armor for the evening, or had perhaps taken watch. Either way, the station drew on in silence. Soon, sounds of the radstorm began to fade as well.  

With a sigh, hands sought to busy themselves and drew forth a rudimentary toolkit stored on the T-45’s hull. Unable to sleep, time could best be spent working on minor repairs. At least, those that could be completed quietly so as not to bother the rest of the team.

_Who knew what tomorrow would bring._

She wasn’t sure if she even cared anymore.

* * *

Danse donned BOS standard-issue fatigues as he sat in front of a makeshift computer terminal. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the monitor. It was a basic set-up used for transmission purposes. It was able to relay vast amounts of information or reports over long distances rather than using radio communication on unsecured channels. A moderate level of encryption for the computerized messages offered a means of security against prying eyes or would-be-hackers. It wasn’t the fastest, but it did the job.

A transmission had been received on the previous night, downloading without difficulty. It had been marked non-urgent. Due to watch and a short outing to deal with reinforcing their protective perimeter wall, there had been little chance to go over the contents at the time.

Haylen had now turned in for the evening, no doubt eager to start further documentation on the Haptic Drive in the morning. Rhys was occupied outside on watch. Initiate Reed had taken to the back room, no doubt resting from the push back from her missions.

There had been some residual tensions still between her and the Knight. A matter he would be forced to address if the vibe between the two remained unresolved. Danse leaned back in his chair slightly, listening to the contemplative tones of the computer as it slowly booted up and came to life.

To say he’d been surprised to see the former Vault dweller in power armor had been an understatement. A complete T-45 model. A few points of damage, but nothing major. He was eager to ask her where she’d obtained the equipment. Utilizing a T-60 himself, power armor was certainly a subject he possessed a fair bit of knowledge on. Other models were a rare thing to see operating out in the Commonwealth. It had been a pleasant surprise.

Fingers struck a few keys upon the ancient keyboard. A content sound of approval granted access without any issue. The report flickered onto the screen, lines of text rolling across the green-black tint of the terminal monitor. It began relaying curious information to the reader.

Following the discussion with their new recruit, a report had been sent off to several officers about the possible identification of a Vault. That its location was near Sanctuary, just North and West of their current position. As old-world tech went, Vaults were of great interest to the Brotherhood. While buildings and well-known sites were often picked over by scavengers, or even taken up by Raiders themselves, Vaults were typically left relatively untouched. Dependent the status of the outer security features, of course.

The report had been well received. An entirely separate team had been dispatched to investigate the area. That was a fact he had not yet relayed to Haylen, least she be disappointed at being left behind. No doubt the team consisted of a handful of Knights and a few Scribes. Paladin Danse had remained at Cambridge, ensuring the outpost remained secure after recent events.

Their endeavor was apparently fruitful. Insightful information relayed across the screen. It was a condensed version of the documentation process. Archival Scribes were methodical in their note-taking and subsequent reports.

To read through the non-condensed version could easily take days or even weeks, especially once everything at the site had been processed and reported on accordingly. It was fortunate that Proctor Quinlan enjoyed his work so, as the majority of the proof-reading would fall to him to file into the main Brotherhood data logs.

The report began:

 

_Target location: Vault 111_

_Location suggestion: North of Sanctuary, Commonwealth_

_Mission: Recon_

_Interest: Old-world technology, data recovery_

_Source: Suggested intel from Paladin Danse as per detailed account_

_Initial Report:_

_Confirmed location of Vault 111. Vault seal disrupted and compromised, but intact. No intruder activity noted. Entrance intact with no sign of explosives, external damage or integrity loss. Internal sweeps confirmed presence of radiated insects and sections of high radioactive content. Suggest protective measures for long-term exploration or archiving._

_No survivors identified._

_Detailed sweeps confirmed the vast amount of scientific technology utilized in this particular Vault. Vault 111 can be ruled out as a control Vault. Much of the technology within remains undamaged and even functional, operating on the drained power grid. Suggest additional Scribes to document thoroughly. Requested immediately._

_Large storage areas filled with what appear to be single occupant compartments. Many remain non-operational, despite rebooting attempts of the system. Data reclaimed from local terminals suggest catastrophic system failure. Logs indicate an ongoing experiment that tested the effects of suspended animation via cryostatis, or freezing, of subjects._

_Analysis of compartments confirmed human subjects contained within. Subjects all deceased. Life support measures indicate a systems malfunction, which may have resulted in the death of those currently within the experiment. Time of malfunction unknown. Reports within the smaller terminals corrupted beyond decryption. Unsure of exact reason for the system failure. Recommend back-up of systems and further analysis at the Prydwen with more advanced diagnostics software._

_Terminal access granted limited information about the occupants, including matching descriptions, names and date of stasis initiation._

 

 

A long list of names were presented. Many contained similarities with one another, such as initiation date into the program, matching names that may have indicated family relations, and details about the physical traits of those contained within. Fingers tapped the arrow keys, scrolling through the list.

A familiar identification rolled into view.

 

 

_Smith, Gladen (maiden: Reed): Female, 27, 127lbs, 5’6”, green eyes, red hair. Cryostasis initiated 2077. Cryostasis status: Unknown._

_Further investigation found (1) Smith, Gladen - Missing_

_Smith, Nate: Male, 30, 196lbs, 6’1”, blue eyes, brown hair. Cyostasis initiated 2077. Cryostasis status: Interrupted / Compromised._

_Further investigation found (1) Smith, Nate – Deceased with apparent gunshot injury to frontal lobe_

_Smith, Shaun: Male, infant, blue eyes, brown hair. Cryostasis initiated 2077. Cryostasis status: Interrupted / Compromised._

_Further investigation found (1) Smith, Shaun – Missing._

 

 

The rest of the list continued with further names, none with any relation to the few that were familiar.

 

 

_Investigation of other cryopods: Details on deceased subjects match those indicated within the terminal logs._

_Suggest extended analysis of Vault 111 due to the nature of the advanced level of technology contained within. Follow-up report to be provided after full diagnostics with complete itemized list of reclaimed tech. Internal data to be transferred to holotape and transported to the Prydwen for additional levels of decryption and analysis._

_Initial Report: Concluded_

_Ad Victoriam._

 

 

Paladin Danse sat back from the terminal for a time, contemplating the results of the investigation. Deep brown gaze took in the words with a measured level of thought. Several keystrokes took the report back to its beginning, whereupon it was read again in full. Green letters glowed softly as they whispered a brief glimpse into the history of such a place.

_Cryostatis initiated: 2077_

Cursor blinked rhythmically as it sat at the end of the words, waiting for the next command.

 _Pre-war,_ he thought to himself.

More keystrokes scrolled the report down yet again.

_Smith, Gladen (maiden: Reed): Female, 27, 127lbs, 5’6”, green eyes, red hair. Cryostasis initiated 2077. Cryostasis status: Unknown._

_Further investigation found (1) Smith, Gladen – Missing_

Skepticism bubbled up as mind tried to piece together the strange intel. Kneejerk thoughts were of dismissal and a sense of betrayal. Assumptions that the woman who had found them was likely some type of con artist going by a discovered name found in some terminal bank. A person preying on the information discovered there, fabricating a set of circumstances to match and using it for personal gain once back out on the Commonwealth.

_Perhaps Rhys had been right to distrust the woman after all..._

He read the report once more, putting certain information to memory. Fingertips traced the stubble upon his jaw in thought.

A faint sound from the back room interrupted internal thoughts. Eyes drifted towards the doorway, pausing. Again came another sound. Faint, but there. With a single keystroke, the officer exited the terminal report screen and pushed himself away from the desk. The rolling chair squeaked as he stood. If Reed were still awake at this hour, then perhaps it was time to find out more about the mysterious woman.

Thunder boomed ominously above.

____________________________________

A servo located in the right shoulder was sticking and had been restricting movement there for some time. It still operated, sure, but it wasn’t as fluid as its left-hand counterpart. With screwdriver in hand, Gladen removed the steel plating from the section in question. Care was taken in putting the panel down as quietly as possible once removed. With the Pip-Boy light on, she investigated what could be causing the issue.

Codsworth had been immensely helpful in assisting with the T-45s routine care. After all, he was similarly composed. At least when it came to the basics. The wiring and electronics were the tricky part, best left to someone who knew what they were doing, but standard maintenance seemed fairly straightforward.

Gladen connected her Pip-Boy to the equipment and ran a diagnostic selection for the right arm attachment. It came back lights green for operational quality and signal relay. No electrical issue noted. She made a face and selected a few buttons on her portable computer, asking it to run a basic movement calibration.

The servo in the unit whirred gently, then groaned as the arm moved upwards of its own accord.

She hit the ‘Pause Sequence’ button and leaned in for a closer look.

“What?” the female recruit muttered out loud, voice barely above a whisper. With a sigh, she climbed down from the frame, picked up a pair of needle-nose pliers and hopped back up to locate the servo.

A piece of shrapnel was sitting at the edge of the gearbox relay, stuck into the nearby housing and occasionally catching the servo as it moved. With a delicate, yet insistent, tug of the stray bit of metal, Gladen was able to remove it without damage. A begrudging look was cast at the foreign bit of material. Shoulder still ached from the trouble that little part had caused.

Reed selected the ‘Resume Sequence’ option on her Pip-Boy, still attached to the T-45. The unit whirled back to life once more, this time no hitch or groan as the limb moved freely. No wonder she had been sore and tired. It had been a constant effort to hoist the right arm.

With tired hands, the armor plating that covered the shoulder unit was secured in its proper place. She’d double-check it in the morning in order to make sure everything was running smoothly.

_One thing done, at least._

She operated mostly with her Pip-Boy light as the rest of the equipment was looked over. The internal leg support frames were adjusted 1/2” upwards and locked into a new setting. Visor was thoroughly cleaned and checked for any defects. There was a strong desire to also clean out the feral gunk that had cemented itself in the crevices of the left power hand, but that would be a job best done outside.

So engrossed with her work, Reed didn’t notice the figure standing just outside the doorway. Then again, there were only a few lights still on in the police station by that point. Much of the station was cast in some kind of shadow. Danse wasn’t currently in his power armor either, so it made being tactically silent that much easier.

 _Take care of your equipment and it will take care of you,_ the Paladin was fond of saying.

As shadowed gaze watched the Initiate work, it was clear to see such a lesson had been taken to heart. A pause in the mental musings. _Had he ever said that in front of the new Initiate?_ He couldn’t recall. Perhaps it was a lesson the strange woman had come to know on her own through circumstance.

It seemed Reed kept a toolkit with her, modest but effective. The Pip-Boy Mark IV was able to run basic diagnostic as well.

 _Interesting_ _._

The Initiate wasn’t brash and didn’t rush. She didn’t even really appear to be frustrated at any given point. Many new recruits, when faced with something as complex as power armor, could easily get frustrated and deterred when things didn’t resolve as quickly as they hoped. It did not appear to be the case here. It brought into question a few matters, such as experience and prowess with such equipment.

_Perhaps she really wasn’t as new as she’d lead them all to believe._

At one point he heard her whispering to herself: “What was it Cods had said…?” she rubbed her forehead with a spare hand, the other holding an adjustable wrench, and closed her eyes as if willing mind to recall. “… the internal on-board reaction relay protocol should be re-calibrated after a… was it a fall? Or an explosion…? Both? How could you fall and explode…? It can’t be both. Maybe…?”

Tri-claw marks ran deep through the surface of the chestpiece. While deep, they didn’t appear to be beyond superficial. It was unlikely such marks had been able to delve through far enough to harm the occupant within, especially given the secondary layer of steel just before the frame. Hull integrity came from both the plates and the metal supports working together. The piece would need to be replaced eventually, but it was not dire.

Taking a break, the Initiate sat back on a nearby slab what had once been an internal wall, now nothing more than a slab of debris on which to perch. Tools were set aside. Eyes regarded the equipment in thought. Idle hands swept back sun-kissed hair, reaching for the tie that held it and pulling it loose. Red-copper hair tumbled free, sitting just past shoulder length.

“Permission to intrude, Initiate?” Paladin Danse said, unintentionally startling the female recruit.

“Of course, Paladin Danse,” she breathed as she regained composure. Voice was quiet, although now above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“No, no. You didn’t wake me,” he replied, looking at what she had been working on. “I often find myself awake at odd hours. What are you doing?”

“There were a few things in need of minor repair and calibration. It has been a long couple of weeks, and I’ve been on the move a lot. Hadn’t had time nor a secure place to really take care of it without risking my safety,” she answered evenly.

“Were the assignments tasked to you by Haylen and Rhys… Were you adequately prepared for them? Was the intel sufficient?” he asked, the senior officer tone touching on the words.

He didn’t want to openly ask if it had been too much for her, while at the same time wanting to ensure that there weren’t any flaws in their protocols. Normally a minimum two-man team were issued for most missions. Extra hands were short at the moment, however, so the easier of the tasks had been given to the newest member of the squad instead.

“Rhys and Haylen provided sufficient intel,” Gladen shook her head slightly, shoulder-length copper-red hair falling on either side. A deep breath was taken. “Well, the hospital was harder than initially reported, but I knew I was going in for a challenge. I was careful. So it ended alright.”

Paladin Danse nodded, noting such a detail for future reference.

“What did you encounter?” he continued.

“Feral ghouls, mostly. Raiders too, along the way at least. I had to stop off at Diamond City to resupply at one point, as I was running low on ammo.”

“Smart move. Diamond City is a large settlement with good supply lines and traders. It was a wise decision to go there for ammunition,” he said approvingly.

Normally he would not encourage his squad to needlessly expose themselves to danger. Settlements could be tricky places in various circumstances. Yet, there were also cases of necessity where risks were warranted. Dark eyes stole a sidelong glance at the civilian-garbed female. Expression hardened on the surface, just as one might put on armor before battle.

“Who are you, Reed?” he probed, trying his best to remain neutral.

Gladen could feel the change in her commanding officer. Even with only a dim light coming in from the room beyond, it was easy to see the physical change and shifted expression. It was stony and commanded presence. A man of authority in every sense of the word. While the question had not been harsh nor yelled, it was direct in a way that might make a lesser person flinch.

The words were quiet, almost sad, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Danse’s expression hardened further in anticipation, “Honesty and respect. It’s all I ask of my team. If you are not being truthful with me, then our arrangement will be nullified and you will be permanently dismissed. I suggest you be open with me on this, for your sake more than mine.”

_Perhaps if Nick had believed her, maybe others might too…_

“I never lied to you,” she clarified, green eyes turning to regard him. “I am from Vault 111, but I never grew up there. I entered the facility in 2077 with my husband and son on the afternoon of October the 31st. A fallout shelter. A refuge from the bombs that were falling.”

“Turns out, it wasn’t a community shelter at all,” she sighed. “It was a mass experiment, a fact discovered only after it was too late. They locked us away. All I remember is cold. I remember falling asleep. I woke up years later to find Nate dead and Shaun missing. When I left the Vault to find... anybody... I discovered the world had truly ended, and that the year was now 2287. How that happened... I don’t know. I remember being frozen, and not much else.”

“The information you’re telling me is all accessible from terminal logs within Vault 111,” he replied evenly, although it was difficult to read the look in his eyes. “It does not necessarily mean you are who you say you are.”

_He had visited the Vault?_

“You think I’m faking an identity?” Gladen was visibly startled.

The veteran stiffened, “What I am saying is that such information is accessible to anyone, should they want it badly enough. It is difficult to prove one way or another. Hence why I am asking you about this now.”

“You said yourself that Vaults are nearly impossible to gain access to from the outside,” she countered, bristling. “If it can withstand a nuclear blast, then what hope would a lone person have at getting in? Were there signs of forced entry? A way I could have gotten inside around the security door?”

His lips pressed together.

_Entrance intact with no sign of explosives, external damage or integrity loss._

 

“No,” he admitted.

“How is it you got in, then?” Gladen’s brows lowered skeptically.

“We have a way of accessing the override signal with old world tech that the Scribes had put together. It works in some instances. Not all, depending on the internal integrity of the facility,” he answered truthfully.

The former Vault dweller glanced down at her Pip-Boy. Mark IV version. It was an exceptionally valuable piece of equipment on the surface, she had learned. A trait that had caused her to try and hide the equipment while traveling through certain areas. It stuck out like a sore thumb with its pristine condition and unique design. Many would go their entire lives without the chance to see one in person. Nick had told her that.

Delicate hands retrieved the access port plug on the rear side, unclipping it and holding it up in the dim light.

“I found this on one of the scientist’s skeletons nearest the exit inside the Vault,” she explained, unsure if he was familiar with the equipment. “It plugs into the main door controls and I was able to open the blast doors to the facility from within. That’s how I got out.”

His brows furrowed, nearly touching one another. Pip-Boys were Vault Tec equipment, that was true enough. If Raiders had broken in, although unlikely, that piece of equipment would have been long gone. And a single person likely did not possess the rebuilt units the Brotherhood utilized for accessing the Vaults themselves.

_Perhaps she was telling the truth..._

_Impossible_

_It sounded impossible._

“Nobody can survive being frozen for 210 years, Reed,” he said with a measure of finality.

Gaze considered the floor in front of her with disinterest.

“Nobody else did,” she stated without emotion. “Nate was shot when they tried to take Shaun from him. The rest died in cryostatis. Some type of system malfunction or something. I honestly don’t know. I survived it, somehow.”

_A part of her wished she hadn’t._

A measure of humanity drifted into the veteran’s thoughts as he weighed the tone of each word. Realization that, perhaps, there was an element of truth to all this. That, if the story was real, if these accounts were historically accurate, if it were all true, then the person sitting to his left had experienced the loss of everything they had ever known. Every friend. Every family member. Even memories of places that had once stood must now have been ruined.

It would make her utterly alone in a strange world.

“Shaun was your son?” he decided to delve deeper.

Notes from the other recon team had indicated the infant indicated on the logbooks had not been accounted for.

Reed nodded distantly. “He was still a baby. The scientists took him from us.”

“I see.”

 

_Smith, Gladen (maiden: Reed): Female, 27, 127lbs, 5’6”, green eyes, red hair. Cryostasis initiated 2077. Cryostasis status: Unknown._

_Further investigation found (1) Smith, Gladen – Missing_

 

Gold-flecked irises regarded the woman beside him in the dim light of the police station. The attributes were fitting. Height. Color of her green eyes. Rich hair the color of smoldering embers. Skin wasn’t travel-worn or sun-scarred. Hands weren’t calloused or embedded with grime. The way the woman regarded the world at times was that of wonder or awe. The questions asked in ArcJet should have been common knowledge to most. Even the way she phrased certain things was unique and unusual.

It was unlikely that such a person could sneak into a Vault, find such information, formulate such an extravagant tale with personal traits matching exactly a corpse found within and then use said findings as a new identity out upon the wasteland. An identity that would be so farfetched that most likely would not have believed it anyway.

“It really is you, isn’t it?” he said, tone no longer aggressively seeking answers. The mental armor began to slip away.

The woman by his side didn’t answer right away. Slowly, a nod came in response.

“Whoever I was then,” she said softly, “died a long time ago. I’m not even sure who I am anymore, or where to go from here.”

 

 _Shit…_ he thought silently.

 

“I hope you can forgive me being so forward,” he spoke with a note of sympathy. “You can understand why I was skeptical, why I had to ask.”

“I understand. Sometimes I don’t even believe it... if that’s any consolation,” her voice lacked the usual upbeat manner. It was quiet now. Somewhat flat and void of certain inflections.

“You’re really pre-war?”

Again, she nodded.

That did explain more of the Initiate’s natural prowess when it came to addressing the old world tech found at ArcJet systems. Certain items had been readily identified, despite their inability to function in their current day and age. Also were the mannerisms that bubbled to the surface on occasion. The more Danse evaluated it from an old world perspective, the more it began to paint a clearer picture.

_An old world survivor? Here?_

Lips pressed together, “Not tonight but, in the future, I may have questions I would like to ask you. If I may be so bold.”

“That will make two of us,” she replied, half-joking.

“You have handled yourself remarkably well out here for someone with no prior history of the world’s current state,” he said commendably, reflecting. A hesitation. “Perhaps I should have been more mindful in sending you out on those missions single-handedly. Most recruits are familiar with solo missions, especially when it comes to non-hostile recon or tech acquisition. Knowing what I do now, however, I will ensure a more gradual introduction to new environments on future missions.”

“Thank you.”

It didn’t feel like coddling. It didn’t feel like he was swooping in to protect a damsel in distress. Instead, it was comforting. Reed wasn’t being pulled from missions, nor was she being cast out of the Brotherhood. Perhaps the missions might be better tailored to meet her skill level as they continued. Surely that would help her improve with measurable success rather than be faced with dire odds at each corner.

It was much appreciated in light of recent events.

“I was unaware you were in possession of power armor as well,” he decided to redirect the conversation to other matters of curiosity, pointing towards the equipment. “I am glad you utilized it, given now your historical account. It must have been of great help. Where did you happen to locate such a complete set?”

It was odd to see anybody in the possession of power armor that was not somehow linked to a large settlement, involved with a Raider encampment or received it from the Brotherhood.

“Concord, where I first met the other settlers,” she said, regarding the battered beast with appreciation. “It isn’t as advanced as your T-60, but it was more than sufficient. There was a crashed vertibird on the top of the building Preston and his followers were hiding in. With some assistance, we were able to obtain it and use it as both defense and offense against a group of Raiders that had surrounded the building and prevented the settlers from leaving.”

Danse’s brows rose in interest, surprised at the pre-war survivor’s ability to identify the differences between the military models. Power armor was surely a passion for the officer, a fact that was well known amongst the other ranks. It wasn’t often that he met a non-Knight with which to discuss such matters, let alone someone that had not grown up within the Brotherhood’s influence. A mental note was made to investigate Concord, least there were parts still viable on the vertibird that they might be able to use for future repairs.

“Was the power armor damaged from the crash?” he asked, indicating towards the chest and disassembled pieces.

“It was in perfect condition when we found it. Maybe a bit weathered,” she frowned. “The Raiders didn’t manage too much against it with their small caliber rounds. They eventually ran off once they realized we weren’t backing down. In hindsight, they were the smart ones. I’d only been outside the Vault for a little over a week, maybe. I mean, bloatflies were bad enough. Then this... this creature came out of nowhere. Maybe it had been drawn by the sound. I’m not sure.

“It was tall. Enormous. It walked on two legs with claws longer than my forearms,” she mimed, approximating with her hands. “It towered over us, armored with some kind of organic plates or thick skin. I still had the minigun that I had ripped from the vertibird’s frame, but that really just angered it instead of doing any significant damage. At least that I could see.

“It knocked me around a bit, still inside the armor. I lost the minigun during the first tumble. I had my 10mm pistol, which seemed like a toy compared to this thing. I pulled it out of desperation though, firing blindly. It ripped at my chestpiece, snarling. A round caught it in the eye socket and it howled. The other settlers didn’t back down, though. They tried to subdue it too and shot at it. Preston got a lucky shot right in the empty eye socket and the round must have penetrated into the creature’s skull. It spasmed for a moment, clawing at itself until it finally crumpled.”

“A Deathclaw,” Paladin Danse commented with astonishment.

_In Concord? That was unusual territory for the radiated beasts._

“That’s what Preston and Sturges said too,” she confirmed.

“Even battle-hardened veterans I know wouldn’t willingly go hand-to-hand with a Deathclaw. Most people don’t survive an encounter like that out in the Commonwealth,” the black-haired veteran continued with a conflicted expression. “And yet, even after all that, you survived. Even more so, you didn’t run and hide somewhere. You still kept going. Hell, you even decided to stop and help us.”

The Commonwealth could corrupt people so easily, defeat them before they even started. And here, this woman, apparently from a Vault, frozen for years and thrust into this world without any idea of what to expect… she hadn’t lost her humanity.

 _Remarkable. Were people truly that different back then?_ he wondered.

Civilians always seemed so timid or flighty, from what he had witnessed in his travels.

“It didn’t make sense to run. Run back to where?” she shrugged. “I’ll repair the chest piece when I get the chance. Haven’t really come across the parts needed to do it. The gouges are mostly cosmetic anyway.”

“Don’t worry about that for now,” Paladin Danse shook his head. Deep brown gaze regarded the female anomaly with open interest. “I’ll assist you with that if you so need. We have access to additional resources that would surely be able to track down parts. I can even show you how to better maintain your equipment on missions so that you don’t need to rely on getting back to an outpost  to do so.”

“Thank you,” the pre-war woman said after a thoughtful moment, although the gratitude was meant for much more than just the offer to assist with the T-45.

“I apologize for being skeptical of your past,” the Paladin said again, ensuring that his intentions were understood. It had not been a personal vendetta. “Should you need anything, or have questions, I will make time to ensure they are addressed properly. Thank you for being honest with me. Get some rest, Initiate.”

“I will, sir,” she said, saluting with a gentle gesture of fist to chest.

He returned the salute in turn. With that, Danse left the mysterious woman in the company of her equipment, many of his questions now answered and new ones in their place. Mind did its best to take in the information and process it. As impossible as it seemed, perhaps it was not impossible after all. 

 

_237 years old._

_Pre-war survivor._

_A person who had literally witnessed Armageddon._

_A person who was now a part of his very team._

_Fascinating._


	7. Outside the Vault: Day 47

“They want to meet you at the Prydwen,” Paladin Danse was saying as the small squad broke fast together in the early morning. It was an unusual mixture of mutfruit, cooked corn and fancy lad cakes turned into some type of porridge. It steamed in the chilled morning air.

_It sure beat MREs and mystery meat._

“Her? Why?” Knight Rhys looked up at his superior, continuing to give the newest member of their team the cold shoulder.

Thankfully, the scathing looks had ceased and there were no more verbal battles of wit. That, in itself, was an improvement.

Their officer regarded Reed for a moment before looking to both Rhys and Haylen. Calloused fingers gestured with a spoonful of the hot morning meal.

“Reed is a former Vault dweller,” he stated simply. Lips pursed, blowing on the next spoonful to cool it prior to putting it in his mouth.

It was the first time Knight Rhys had looked at her in almost a week. Scribe Haylen was similarly surprised, eyes wide as mouth fell open. 

“That’s how the team was able to find Vault 111! You told them where to find it, didn’t you?” the other female was saying, practically beside herself with sudden excitement. A gleeful gesture nearly spilled the contents of the bowl she was holding.

The male Knight said nothing, returning attention to his food with a twitch of his upper lip.

“Affirmative,” their leader confirmed. “Initiate Reed here has been getting us intel with regards to that facility. In the meantime, Elder Maxson and Proctor Quinlan have requested our presence aboard the Prydwen for an in-depth debriefing and follow-up to that investigation.”

“The amount of tech found in that Vault was unbelievable,” Haylen continued almost whimsically. “I only got to transcribe part of the reports that came in from it, but I may be put on a tag-and-bag team to retrieve items of interest from that location next trip. My god, you must know so much about the place!”

“I suppose so,” Gladen said, unsure of whether to encourage Haylen’s behavior or brush it aside. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were from a Vault?” she pressed.

“Reed informed me at the beginning, and the information was on a need-to-know basis,” Paladin Danse said with a firm tone. “Which is why, now that the Vault is secure, we are able to make such information known. It is also why our audience has been requested at the airport. The vertibird will be arriving sometime later this morning. It is undetermined how long we will be away, but we will know once we arrive.”

“Mission details until you return, sir?” Knight Rhys piped up.

“Fortification repairs are sufficient, supplies restocked and the perimeter has been unchallenged for weeks,” he relayed thoughtfully. Another spoonful swallowed. “I have arranged for an Initiate and a Knight to take up residence here in the meantime to assist with the watches.”

Both the Scribe and Knight seemed pleased that they would not be left short-handed while the duo spent some time at HQ.

“Permission to ask her questions until the vertibird arrives, sir?” the enthusiastic researcher practically begged.

“Negative,” he replied, not even considering it.

* * *

Words were unable to adequately describe the exhilaration and excitement felt within his chest as the vertibird made its final approach. Such an amazing feat of technology. Surely, there were other technological wonders the Brotherhood had uncovered over the years, but this one would never cease to amaze in both practicality and function.

There was something about riding over the Commonwealth in a vertibird that put the world in an entirely different perspective. It was easier to see it all as a whole. It looked cleaner from up high. There was potential. Maybe even hopeful. From the air, all the small things that made the world an unsavoury place disappeared for a short time in the turbulence and wind.

“Initiate Reed,” he called out over the din of the vertiblades, although it was hard to miss the deafening sound of their approaching transport.

Gladen ventured into view, squinting against the rushing wind that stirred up as their transport settled on the rooftop with precision. The only vertibird she had had the pleasure of seeing was the crashed one in Concord. It was much more impressive to see one operating at its full potential.

Fatigues for this venture were simple. Some leather. Some plated armor pieces. Nothing fancy. Simple and  functional. A small bag with few belongings was slung over a shoulder. Scribe Haylen had informed her that they would get her better gear and necessities with their next supply drop request. There was even a chance they may have some to spare at the airport, which was where many of the supply crates were stored. Paladin Danse had offered to put her in touch with the correct people once they were aboard to assist with that.

Armored hand gestured, and Reed hopped up first.

It was very much like the crashed vertibird. Similar layout. Similar design. A few modifications had been made here and there. There was even a mounted minigun perched at the very edge of steel floor nearest the door. A quick glance at it confirmed it was the exact same model that she had used in her Deathclaw stand-off.

Familiar heavy footsteps followed in behind her.

While the Initiate had been encouraged to leave her power armor behind for now, Paladin Danse was not about to do the same. Instead, he was fully armed, ready to take on the entire Commonwealth at a moment’s notice if the need came. Helmet was carried and set aside once aboard.

“You’ll be meeting with Elder Maxson,” he went on to explain, speaking loudly. “He is leader of the East Coast Brotherhood, and has well earned his title. You’d do best to be mindful of what you say when you meet him.”

There was an underlying note of caution in those last words. Reed made sure to remember them. A small hand gripped the steel of the aircraft as they suddenly lurched upward. Muscles braced against the sudden movement. The earth beneath them smoothly slipped away. The buildings began to look like toys as they climbed in altitude. Any people below began looking like tiny insects, if they could even be seen at all.

Reed’s hair flipped about in the turbulence of the wind as she looked out over the state of the world. From the ground it had certainly changed. Up here… up here, it didn’t look so bad in some ways. In others... it looked as if parts of the world she knew were missing. Even so, the air seemed to be fresher at the higher altitude. She felt like she could really breathe up here. Eyes drank in the landscape hungrily, seeing the vast devastation for the first time in a new light.

“What’s on your mind, Initiate?” Paladin Danse called out over the din of the aircraft rotors. He was half looking at her, half glancing out towards the world laid out before them as it swept by.

“Everything has changed from what I remember,” she responded with a half-shout. There was neither a smile nor a frown upon the delicate features. It was a strange expression, mind lost in thought. Body leaned towards the open door, holding on tightly.

“There used to be overpasses everywhere,” she pointed at several distant locations as they continued. “They must have fallen.”

Brown eyes regarded her with interest, perhaps believing more and more the truth of this mysterious woman’s past as time went on. None of the expressions she wore were forced. Those emerald eyes searched the landscape with clear interest, eyes betraying questions and woes at their depths. The world she saw outside the vertibird was not the world he knew. Such a concept was hard to fathom.

Gladen Reed was silent as they came over the city core. Buildings had collapsed, either from time or from the force as the bombs fell. Others stood simply as ghosts of their former glory. Everything was grey with age, or red with rust. The beams that had been left exposed by the blasts made the buildings look more like concrete skeletons than once historical achievements of human engineering.

Lips pressed together, heart sinking.

The vertibird banked away as a few stray rounds were cast in their direction. A nearby building appeared to house a number of Super mutants, their bulked forms littered across the roof and moving like a mass of angry ants on a hill. It was hard to see exact details, but some appeared to be shaking their weapons, no doubt shouting obscenities as they did so.

The aircraft quickly moved on, not remotely phased by the brief attack.

Gladen sat back fully in her seat after a time, no longer willing to look at the world after getting a fill of the carnage. Eyes regarded the floor before her boots instead. So lost in thought, the Initiate didn’t feel the inquiring eyes of her senior officer fixed on her. A hand fiercely struck away the stray tear that had leapt unbidden onto a cool cheek.

Paladin Danse regarded the world outside once more, choosing to allow his recruit a moment alone with her thoughts.

_What it must have looked like in its prime..._

“It used to be beautiful, sir,” the female’s voice cut across the wind, as if reading his very mind.

Dark gaze swept back to his Initiate.

“I can imagine it was, recruit.”

* * *

“I don’t understand why I was moved up the ranks, Paladin Danse,” Gladen was saying as they left the main deck, expression twisted with mild confusion.

The meeting with Elder Maxson had gone well. Apparently, locating a Vault that had stood the test of time and remained in pinnacle condition had its merits. Technological acquisition was of high priority of the Brotherhood. The fact an Initiate had catalyzed the sequence of events leading to such a find was worthy of high praise.

While that had all been well and good, there was still the looming inevitability of a lengthy debriefing with regards to her historical accounts within those walls. A dry and troublesome eventuality that was bound to stir emotions. Paladin Danse had already heard portions of the tale and relayed it. A generalization of it all. Yet, archives were not built on half-stories. Those were logged with elaborate details and specifics.  
  
Given that she was a civilian when dealing with the active Vault, there was hope that such meetings wouldn’t require in-depth knowledge of the facility itself. There were some questions that could be answered, certainly. Others? Not so much. She didn’t have the first clue about how they had effectively initiated cryostatis. Let alone how they’d managed to keep the tissues viable over such a vast length of time. That mystery was lost to the skeletons that littered the floor. Once scientists, now little more than calcium and dust. The dead rarely gave up their secrets, voices long ago silenced. Reed knew as much, having screamed at them in her grief. Only the walls had answered with a mocking echo.

“If you are to survive out here in the long-term, you’re going to need some serious hands-on training,” Paladin Danse instructed as they ventured deeper into the airborne base, footsteps ringing against the metallic catwalk. “I’ve pulled some strings and expedited your ranking in accordance to your unique situation. This will enable you to join me on missions and remain upon my team for now, rather than being sent off to the Prydwen for traditional advancement. You are valuable to the Brotherhood, in more ways than one. This is to ensure your capabilities are utilized in the best way possible. Think of this as a probationary period in a higher position. You’ll need to prove your worth.”

An entirely new world had opened up for the recruit. Access to additional resources beyond any settlement or merchant trader’s capabilities. Training under those who had not only survived the wasteland, but appeared to thrive, despite the hardships. Weapon and armor upgrades would be given as required, pending approval from a direct superior. Additional support would be provided on missions if requested.

It was exhilarating.

One moment, she had been struggling on the wasteland with only a Handy bot for assistance and companionship. Now, there was structure. Community. People. It certainly wasn’t home, but it was a far cry from spending lonely nights in abandoned buildings with nothing but the cold wind and skittering of insect feet to break the monotony.

A tiny shift happened deep within, rippling through limbs and mind like rings on a pond.

_Was there truly a chance for some semblance of a life here?_

“Won’t that cause tensions with the others?” Gladen protested weakly. Soldiers worked their entire lives trying to make rank in any type of military setting. Perhaps it was different here, but doubtful. “What if they don’t agree to my appointment?”

“Like Rhys?” Paladin Danse asked with a sidelong glance. The words hung heavily.

Reed made a face, unconsciously chewing on her lower lip.

_Yes._

“Not just him, but... everyone...” she gestured at the massive airship, indicating the Brotherhood as a whole.

“Word of Vault 111 will spread quickly, if it hasn’t already,” her mentor went on to explain. “Your name will likely be tied to it and become well-known in due time. Elder Maxson is very pleased by this acquisition, so there is no need to worry about your reputation among us. Any grievances others may have will likely go unvoiced. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“Why wouldn’t they speak openly about it?” she said, looking around as they continued deeper into the mighty airship. There were too many details to put to memory just yet. Entrances. Hallways. Valves. Pipes. Ladders. Doors. It was a maze of steel and old parts.

“I’m your sponsor,” Paladin Danse answered simply. “If they have a problem with your rank, or recommendation for advancement, they will have to come talk to me first.”

It was no secret that her mentor was well-known. Stepping foot aboard the Prydwen had been like walking into an entirely new world for all manner of reasons. It was not a crumbling building, nor small fortress. It was vast, large, and hung in the air above the world. That, in itself, was impressive. What had been equally surprising was the prompt nature of all those who shared space with the veteran Paladin. All spoke clearly and with the utmost attention. Postures were rigid and professional. Any request or order was executed immediately and without question.

For a moment, Gladen had wondered if he had taken offense to her generally more laid-back approach to addressing him and her squadmates at Cambridge. If this was the level of expectation, perhaps it would be wise to take note and adjust accordingly. Especially when aboard the airship command base.

“Go and meet with everyone,” he instructed firmly, shaking her from her thoughts. “We will be stationed here for a time, so best get familiar with the layout of the Prydwen and those you will be addressing. Captain Knight Cade has requested you see him first for a routine intake. After that, you’re welcome to tour the ship. I suggest you visit Proctor Quinlan in the archives last, given his intentions to question you thoroughly.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladen agreed, footsteps halting in time as her officer came to a halt near a doorway. A sign above read **‘Med Bay’.**

“I’ll find you later,” he reassured. “I will see to your sleeping arrangements so that you will have a place to bed down. If there is enough time in the day, we can even investigate the T-60 power armor you’ve been assigned. It’s hanging in Bay 3.”

_A new set of power armor?_

Reed’s eyes surely must lit up at the comment and betrayed her internal delight. A knowing smile crept across the stoic features of her senior officer as a result. He, too, looked marginally excited. As much as Paladin Danse could boast an expression.

“See to Captain Knight Cade, and I will go over everything in detail later,” he said with a nod, dismissing the recruit accordingly.

Green eyes once more read the sign secured above the doorway. The next step in an entirely new adventure. Nerves tingled with a fleeting notion of anxiety. Heart beat a touch faster, for a moment feeling entirely out of her element. Reed turned back to her mentor, but he was already walking away.

_Well, too late to back out now._

With a deep breath, knuckles rapped on the doorframe as the former Vault dweller ventured inside.

* * *

Captain Knight Cade was direct, professional and straight to the point.

A medical exam.

_It made sense._

With a level of relief, the exam was fairly routine and non-invasive. Questions mostly. A brief physical. Nothing out of the ordinary, save perhaps the unusual context of some of the inquiries.

_Sleeping with creatures of the Commonwealth? Like, what, feral ghouls?_

The concept had immediately brought back the memory of how they smelled. Gooey rotting corpses of once-humans that plagued tunnels below ground and buildings above.

_No, the thought of sleeping with a ghoul or Super mutant had never crossed her mind._

When all was said and done, Medical Officer Cade dismissed her accordingly. No lengthy questions about cryostatis. No full divulgence of her experience there. It seemed the field medical officer was only interested in current stats rather than too much history. In a way, it was practical. The amount of events people had experienced nowadays were too lengthy to list in a feasible way. Unless it was immediately relevant, it wasn’t deemed terribly high priority.

One thing was for sure; people on board were heavily invested in their work for The Brotherhood. In the end, they were also just regular people. Like her, like Danse. People who had come together for the greater good. People that believed in making a difference. Knight Reed found herself comfortable in the company of all the strangers. They were good people in the grand scheme of things. And they didn’t shoot her on sight. It was a warm welcome by comparison.

A brief tour of the Prydwen confirmed just how vast the floating ship was. A true technological marvel. How it stayed aloft with the weight of so much within was remarkable. Not only that, but it was docked in a stationary position to boot. A constant hum of engines eluded to some clue about its operation.

Another person of interest was Proctor Ingram, an interesting officer. She was an engineer of sorts. A bit rough around the edges, a hint of awkwardness and a strict dedication to the operation of the ship. At first, it appeared that the woman was operating a modified piece of power armor. In truth, it was more of an exo-suite. Organic legs had been lost in a nuclear explosion and subsequent landslide, replaced now by metallic limbs.

Proctor Teagan had been an interesting fellow. Kind. Comedic to a degree. Light-hearted, with a sense of humor and sarcasm. No doubt it helped pass the time. The man operated and maintained the inventory of weapons and gear aboard the Prydwen. It was a stationary job that was on lockdown for the majority of the time. Like a bank teller, but for weapons and ammunition. No wonder a little bit of wit and banter helped keep ones sanity.

Danse had been wise with recommending she visit the man in charge of the archives last. Proctor Quinlan was a man of many questions. Fortunately, they clear and direct. There was no need for flare, embellishment or heroic mannerisms. Many questions were, in fact, yes or no. It was interesting to tell ones recent memory in such a rigid form. Somehow it felt dry. Less emotion. Less human quality to it all. In that, perhaps, it was easier for the newly appointed Knight to recall the details.

Less emotion. Less turmoil.

Yes. No. Yes. No.

_It was easier._

* * *

 

The new female recruit was dismissed with the promise she would arrive early the very next day for follow-up questions. A schedule had been laid out to ensure all topics would have sufficient time to be documented. It looked to be a task of three days work, give or take. Proctor Quinlan would make his own notes once all was said and done, and it would be Knight Reed who would pour over them all to ensure the tale was properly told.

It would be curious to see their take on matters.

Despite the doors being made of steel and aluminum, they closed with ease and the softest of clicks as the latches fell into place. Reed was drained as she left the Proctor’s archival room. It had been a long day full of new experiences. Mind was exhausted. A type of feeling that even managed to make limbs feel lethargic. Stomach grumbled idly.

The Prydwen seemed quieter than before. It was impossible to tell the exact time without the luxury of windows aboard the airship. No clocks seemed to hang anywhere. In fact, Reed had not recalled spying any sort of time-keeping device since leaving the Vault. Eyes glanced around, suddenly curious about the notion.

A few of the others were up, but that seemed fairly standard. A military outpost of any kind typically had shifts at all hours of the day. Prepared. Always in a state of alert. No doubt that had assisted in their establishment of such an impressive force and presence within the Commonwealth.

Boots rang out against the catwalk once more, now having a better idea of direction within the operational headquarters. Finding the mechanical bays was easy, now that a layout have been formulated within her mind. At least, the main areas had been put to memory. It would take longer to memorize the intricacies of the rest of the ship.

The workshop was marvelous. Tools of every sort. Diagnostic equipment, bolts, screws, nuts, servos, gears, relays, transmitters, couplers, terminals, sockets and wrenches of every size. Codsworth might have fainted had he laid his eyes upon such a collection of parts.

A familiar figure had an array of items laid out for use in bay #3. A trolley had been brought over, tools arranged and organized upon it. There was a suit hanging from the chairs in the power racking station, familiar in appearance to the unit that Paladin Danse operated himself. A T-60, just like he had said. It bore no emblems, no titles. The surface was a matte steel grey with a thick layer of dust on the shoulder plates.

It could use a good polish.

“No one died in this one, did they?” she asked with a curious note.

Danse almost startled. Not quite jumping to attention, but a flinch rippled across the entirety of his unarmoured form.

“Pardon?... No,” he said, unsure of the recruit was making a jest or if it were a serious inquiry. “This particular set was pulled from storage. I don’t believe anyone has yet been assigned to this equipment.”

Reed looked it over with distinct curiosity. A few details were similar to her T-45. There were more differences than not, or variations to the standard build with which the recruit was familiar with. It looked far more technical and possessed many more features that the T-45 appeared to lack.

“How long as it been in storage?” she ventured to ask.

“A while,” the Paladin said, wiping his hands off on a rag. “That is one of the main reasons why it needs an in-depth inspection before being taken into the field. I anticipate we will be here for a few days between your meetings with the other officers, so I will assist in getting this ready.”

It was a generous offer. Green eyes shifted to her commanding officer.

“Am I going to receive any training on maintaining it, sir?” she asked, still somewhat unsure of what to expect or what would come next with the advancement to Knight.

_Would there be training on the Prydwen, or would it be more of a field-work type of training?_

“If we have time, perhaps,” he agreed carefully, neither promising nor denying such a request.

It would be far quicker for the Paladin to execute such checks without having to lead a recruit through the instructions. Still, if they were to be stationed here for more than a handful of days, it would be wise to share some of the main insights for this particular piece of equipment with its newly appointed operator. There was no denying he enjoyed sharing his passion with others when time allowed.

“Here,” she said, unbuckling the Pip-Boy from her arm with practiced movements. A careful hand extended, offering the piece of old world technology to the Paladin.

Burnt hazelnut gaze regarded the item with hesitation. A moment passed before a calloused hand took it with measured care. Hinge swung this way and that as it was looked over with an analytical tendency. It was in pristine condition.

“It can run some diagnostics. I won’t need the Pip-Boy while I’m with Proctor Quinlan for the next few days,” she offered helpfully. A shy shrug. “I know I’m not very well-versed on the T-60 model just yet. I appreciate that you’re willing to help me get it field-ready, sir. Very grateful. I know I don’t have much to offer just yet as far as assistance, but maybe the Pip-Boy can help? It might not be much, but it’s the best I can really offer in the meantime. At least until I can do my own calibrations and repairs.”

It felt strange to be put in charge of equipment and have no idea how to operate it. A clear reminder of how useless she still felt at times. A reminder that this wasn’t a world she really knew just yet. Without the senior officer to help calibrate the T-60, surely the 237 year old woman would have struggled and been at a loss.

Danse was a difficult man to read at the best of times. Aboard the Prydwen, the exterior seemed that much more thick and guarded. A stony feature with little range of expressions. Authoritative. Direct. Yet every now and then the mask would slip and a glimmer of the man beneath could be seen.

“A generous offer in turn,” he finally agreed, investigating the old world tech with open interest. Delighted dark eyes lifted to meet her lighter orbs. “Thank you, Knight. I admit, I am unpracticed with old world technology such as this particular device, but... it would be an ideal opportunity to gain familiarity with it.”

A small smile touched her features, grateful to be able to contribute in some way at least. With time, there would be less instances of needing to rely on others for functionality. There would be more training. More field work. Instruction. Mentorship. It would all come together one day.

For now, it was a beginning. A strange kind of new start.

It felt good to have a sense of direction.

_Knight Reed._

It would take some getting used to.


	8. Outside the Vault: Day 146

Training had been going well.

Much had happened since they had left the Prydwen. A solid foundation had been established with their latest Knight through field work and recon operatives. Although it had taken some time, it was well worth the dedication. A variety of hands-on missions had been carefully selected by the commanding officer with care and specific purpose. Each had its own merits and lessons waiting to be unearthed.

Teaching was a fundamental requirement for anyone who had climbed the ranks to any status of note within the Brotherhood. A Paladin certainly had the experience to offer, and the wisdom to tell it. Many an Initiate had been put through such field work before and benefited from the hardy tasks, so the decision to train Reed was not entirely out of the ordinary.

Those particular missions had been tasked differently, however. Care had been taken to ensure the missions would offer both learning experiences tactically, but also with purposeful exposure to the world’s natural challenges.

Collapsed buildings that were structurally unsound had been traversed. Flooded passageways below the city’s topside had been investigated and rerouted. Navigating in the dark, both in the wilderness and in the urban centre, had been a top priority from the beginning. Identifying regional creatures and how best to either confront or circumvent them was an ongoing task. There had even been lessons on how best to set up for camp for the night, depending on their location.

It had been a wealth of information to absorb, let alone recall and put to practical use at a moment’s notice. Yet, Knight Reed had adapted well. She possessed an aptitude that served her skill and allowed for continuing success on many fronts. Of course, there were a handful of circumstances that caused a minor set-back, but neither were hurt of it. Lessons on the wasteland were often chaotic. Both walked away with intel they could use for future encounters.

Paladin Danse and Knight Reed been journeying at length out on the field without many outposts to turn to. It became second nature to spend the long days venturing the wastes. Watches were standard and routine. Breaking fast each morning was a chance to contemplate the day ahead. Scheduled weapon and equipment checks were made before venturing out. Walking took up much of any given day. When a destination was reached, it was then evaluated, addressed and cleared. Come day’s end, there were perimeter checks, equipment maintenance and another meal. Reed was fond of taking first watch. Danse opted for the second.

It was comfortable.

Their mission’s had taken them all over the Commonwealth. From the inner core to the outskirts near the Glowing Sea. From the Northern quadrant, where Raiders and Super mutants seemed to appear as if by magic, back down to the Southern coast. No two assignments had been alike over the past three months.

It had been pleasant for the most part. Nothing they couldn’t handle. Save for the fact that the Institute was still an elusive subject for the Brotherhood. No solid intel or data had been found that could put them any closer to finding it. If they hadn’t faced off against synths before, Danse was tempted to dismiss all of the Institute rumors as just some made up story. A fabricated tale meant to scare children and keep stories interesting around the camp fire at the end of each day.

Over time, other mission operatives required the combining of multiple teams to facilitate. Often for greater concentration of firepower and able bodies, depending on the situation. Grouping up was standard for most who had been within the fold for any length of time. In this case, it was new to the recently appointed Knight, but still well received.

It was fascinating to witness the change in his sponsored charge. There had never been a time where she was meek, timid or shy. Yet, there was a new way she carried herself now. A touch taller. Mannerisms a little less guarded. She smiled easily, all the while still taking life seriously. Confidence blossomed. Proficiencies increased. She was operating with the best of them, seeming just as much a part of any team as those who had grown up knowing this life.

Paladin Danse found himself growing immensely proud of the progress she had made.

There was no question about it; the role of Knight suited her character well.

As was common, the commanding officer had been once again called for briefing and discussion of Commonwealth matters aboard the Prydwen. Elder Maxson valued his input, intel and boots-on-the-ground perspective, so he was often present for such meetings. Rather than drag his recruit along, Knight Reed was ordered to remain with the urban team until his business was concluded.

Hunting Super mutants was far more entertaining than staring at the walls of the Prydwen while awaiting further orders. Plus, it would benefit both the cause and her training to do so.

It had been a wise choice.

The team had managed to clear an entire building in the downtown range that had been a sore spot for the Brotherhood for some time. Within contained not only tech they might be able to utilize, but there was also a chance of finding detailed records of supplies, provisions and weapon depot locations within the region. A valuable prospect.

Such an acquisition had taken a handful of days to accomplish in full, no doubt a trying venture for all those involved. Their success had been well received and high praises had been made of the team leading the spear.

_Good job, Knight,_ he remembered thinking to himself upon hearing the news.

Word traveled fast within the ranks. Their story quickly became the topic of discussion aboard the Pryden mess hall that particular evening. A few members of that team had even come up to the mighty airship for debriefing. The rest of the team remained stationed at the airport below for the night, no doubt catching up on some much needed sleep.

Danse had nearly gone down to see his recruit, but decided against it at the last moment. He hoped Reed was doing well and forging some much-needed relationships within their ranks. It was important to trust one another, especially given the dangers each team faced on any given day.

The return to Cambridge had been a welcome one. It was an outpost that no longer fought to hold its own against the landscape. Fortified. Provisioned. Established. Being within its walls offered a sense of calm after all those weeks out in the field. Here, at the police station, a person’s senses were given a much-needed break, rather than requiring to be on high alert at all hours.

The team was mostly familiar. Scribe Haylen. Knight Rhys. Knight Reed. An Initiate named Max, who had taken on the role as the resident newbie of the group. Another Knight had arrived named Fledge, a strong silent type. Tall. Broad shoulders, almost as wide as any doorway. Kept to himself mostly. How he fit comfortably inside a set of power armor was anybody’s guess.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

A voice intruded on internal thoughts and private musings.

Sunlight streamed in through half-boarded windows, illuminating in brilliant beams as dust hung heavily in the air. Paladin Danse had just come back from a brief patrol through Cambridge with their two newest members as a routine safety precaution. Now, with the task complete, he was opting to eat the leftovers from lunch without complaint. Within the station was quiet, the rest of the team outside on duty. Or, so he had thought, until the interruption.

“Go ahead,” Paladin Danse said, looking up from his meal. It was unusual for Scribe Haylen to request such an audience. He had been under the impression they could speak freely to one another for some time now.

“Just tell her how you feel, sir.”

A hard look crossed road-weary features. He stared intently at his companion for several moments before speaking, wondering whether to say anything at all.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Haylen,” Danse said firmly. The grip on his fork increased as he continued eating, chewing slowly.

“You may be able to fool the others, but you can’t fool me,” Jess stated in a matter-of-fact tone, sitting down beside her commanding officer.

The two had been through a lot together over the years. Not always assigned to the same team, but their relationship was deeply ingrained. Like that of an older brother and younger sister. Or, maybe it was the other way around.

“You take the time to assist with her power armor, to supervise the modification and care of her weapons, to take point when the mission poses a higher risk than initially suspected. I’ve known you long enough to know that something’s different.”

The Paladin’s face remained neutral before features pulled into a guarded tension.

 

_Damn._

 

“I do that with all members of the squad if they require assistance, Haylen. The in-depth nature of her training is due to a lack of experience on the surface. It may appear more hands-on than most, but that is simply due to the nature of teaching such rudimentary skills. You know that.”

Feminine features scoffed and blue-grey eyes rolled in obvious disbelief.

“Someone else might not be able to spot the difference, but you seem to forget that my job is analyzing data, Danse. You might try to hide it, but, to me, it seems plain as day. I bet you didn’t even notice you do it. Hell, I bet you didn’t even realize she does it too.”

Danse had stopped eating at the words, casting a sidelong look at the intrusive squad-mate. He hadn’t noticed, in fact. Not consciously, anyway. The larger man cleared his throat, moving the food around his bowl without taking a bite.

“It’s not that easy, Haylen,” he answered flatly, almost ready to put an end to this line of discussion. Jaw muscles clenched as he considered what else to say. “Matters of this nature are often more complex than appearances let on.”

“Maybe,” the Scribe conceded. She drew a thoughtful breath. “Or, maybe you’re just being stubborn as always. Is it because of her past? That’s just a fact of life. You never let the past hold you back before. Why let it bother you now?”

Only a handful of people knew that Danse had grown up an orphan, selling scrap in Rivet City until he was old enough to enlist. Even so, such a start had not adversely affected the officer’s ability to succeed and climb through the ranks. If anything, it had been an additional motivating factor. A desire to accomplish more in life than just hunting for bits of metal scrap to flip to strangers for caps.

Reed had history too. Had a family once, in a world long ago.

Everyone had a past.

_That much was true._

The Paladin made a brief huff, not quite a sigh, more just a frustrated exhalation of air. His meal was getting cold with all this talking. Not that it had been terribly warm to begin with.

“I’m her senior officer, Haylen. Such behavior would be looked down upon for being unprofessional and wrong for a man of my position. Especially given the fact that I am her sponsor as well.”

“You never frowned upon Rhys and I,” Haylen countered logically.

“That is an entirely different situation,” he retorted. “Neither of you operate under each others orders. You both operate under mine, and thus, there is no direct conflict of interest. No question about preferential treatment.”

“Maybe I just don’t want you to wake up one day as a bitter old vet who spends each afternoon talking about all the battles fought in the past, but, in the end, was too shy to talk to a woman,” the female soldier offered daringly, even going so far as to give her shoulder-brother a nudge for emphasis.

Danse mustered a warning look, not unlike one might cast at a sibling that was becoming increasingly bothersome with their meddling. Words fell silent as the door to the police station opened. It was an abrupt end to the current line of conversation as Max entered, finished his rounds, apparently. Certain matters could be openly spoken of within the Brotherhood. Some discussions were best kept within the squad. And other, more delicate, topics were limited to only a few sets of ears.

Jess immediately took back to her workstation with a nonchalant calm. Technical documents were spread all about in a way that made sense only to the archival recorder. Some were old. Some were more newly acquired. The information was being compared, archived and reported on. A small journal was filled with specs, basic drawings and important notes copied from the larger originals. A field-copy was far obviously more practical than hauling the full-sized drawings all over the Commonwealth.

It was true that she was one of the best analysts in the Brotherhood. There was little wonder that it was she who picked up on the subtle nuances presented in this particular scenario. Traits and behaviors that the commanding officer had tried best to keep to himself.

Apparently, his best had not been good enough.

_Dammit._

Danse disposed of his meal items and sought to keep himself busy for the time being. Despite having just completed a routine patrol, body and mind were eager to be out and moving. He understood that Haylen meant well. However, that hadn’t stopped the conversation from feeling uncomfortable and, mostly, unfamiliar. A life in the Brotherhood taught those within the ranks many skills.

_Emotional proficiency?_

That was not one of his fortes.


	9. Outside the Vault: Day 151

“Sir?”

Paladin Danse gave his head a mental shake, bringing himself back to the present.

“Sorry, Knight, what were you saying?”

Gladen made a slight face before resuming her report, “Intel indicates that most of the locations of interest in our region have been sufficiently cleared, sir. We are currently waiting on a new insertion point in the Southern Commonwealth area, to the West of the main core. No new reports have identified progress in our search for the Institute. Until we hear any update, we are to hold position and maintain our presence in the Commonwealth.”

“Outstanding,” the senior officer nodded, taking mental notes as the information was relayed.

It basically meant: _Stay put until they were needed elsewhere_. It was fairly standard these days to complete their missions within such a successful time frame that they were often left waiting a few days or even up to a week for new orders.

“Was that all?” Paladin Danse asked, regarding his recruit.

She stood in her regular orange fatigues, unless on patrol or on watch. The T-60 power armor she operated stood at the back of the police station, fusion core engaged. It was ready to enter in only a few short moments should the need arise.

“Yes, sir, as far as I know,” Knight Reed said with an affirmative nod.

“Organize the watch for the evening and see if Haylen has any local tech that she wants investigated while we’re stationed,” Danse said, thinking of ways to keep the days from dragging while they waited for orders from HQ. Eager as most were to be out and on duty, the police station had a way of feeling comfortable. It wasn’t the Prydwen, but it somehow felt calmer out here. He wouldn’t mind having an excuse to stay at this outpost a few more days.

“Already done, Paladin,” Reed replied.

She didn’t depart right away.

Paladin Danse raised a single brow, “Was there something else, soldier?”

Reed nodded, then paused, “Yes, sir. I...”

The senior officer continued to regard her openly.

“I may have a lead, sir,” she blurted. Part of her had been hesitant to bring anything up at all.

“A lead? What kind of lead?” he asked, genuinely curious.

The Knight swallowed hard.

“Well I… A friend of mine…” she sighed, trying to not let her anxiety show after taking a breath. “A friend of mine contacted me recently with regards to a lead that he had. Said it was fairly urgent. Wouldn’t say what, since it wasn’t a secure line of communication. All he said was that it was worth a shot and might be of use.”

_Well, no going back now.  
_

“Who is this… ‘friend’ of yours? A Brotherhood contact, or someone outside of our organization? What do you suspect it may be about?” Danse pressed slightly, eyes narrowing as if studying the situation.

The veteran officer was well aware of his Initiate’s innate ability to deal and interact with people of all walks in the Commonwealth. On more than one occasion, it had been she, not him, that had negotiated means to food, provisions or intel from the locals when needed. She seemed to have a knack for it. There was little wonder that such a person could leave an impression amongst folk out there.

“He helped me with intel before, back when I was new to the Commonwealth. It was after I met you, Haylen and Rhys. Met up with him between missions. He helped me with a lead back then. It was a good lead. I have reason to suspect it may be intel related to that situation,” she explained, careful to avoid mentioning too much about the detective.

The Paladin clenched his teeth in thought, jaw line flexing slightly as he tried to figure out his feelings on the matter. If one thing was clear, it was that Knight Reed always seemed to surprise them with how well she was getting on in the world. It appeared she had even developed her own resources outside of the Brotherhood. If he wasn’t so busy being critical, he might have been impressed.

“Do you believe the intel he may have would be beneficial to our cause?” Danse finally asked. “Would it be useful, or just a waste of our time?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Reed said, opening her hands. “He didn’t say what he found. All I know is that the last case we worked on was related to the Institute.”

That peaked the Paladin’s interest instantly.

“You never made much mention of that before. Not in detail. Care to elaborate?”

Knight Reed nodded. She’d never really felt it was relative to bring up before then.

“He helped me track down the person who we suspected had kidnapped my son,” she said plainly, no longer as emotionally troubled by the topic. It didn’t choke her to think about anymore. “When we located this individual, he was guarded by dozens of Gen-1’s. Synths, well-armed. Fortified in an entire building designed to keep people out.

“Nick helped me get past the security and took out hostiles along the way. He stood by me and had my back when things got rough with Kellogg.” A lump formed in her throat. _Maybe the emotions were still a little bit raw._ “… He was working for the Institute, sir, the man we were tracking. It was the Institute that hired the mercenary Kellogg to kidnap my boy. They took him, that’s why my son is missing. The man who did it… well, I killed him, sir.”

“I don’t know what to say...” Danse responded, taken aback. Voice was a little stern, mind a little torn.

He felt slighted that she had never brought this to him before now, although he understood why she may felt she needed to keep it to herself. He was also frustrated.

_She shouldn’t have taken that on by herself._

“You did this on your own? Without assistance? When... did this take place?”

“It was a personal vendetta, sir,” Knight Reed said, emotion lapsing behind a wall of resolve. _I had to do it on my own,_ was what she was trying to say. “Back when I first joined the Brotherhood, not long after ArcJet.”

“That... was extremely unwise, given your lack of familiarity with the world. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. You were practically running in there blind. That was foolish, Reed. You also knew we were looking for Institute intel. This could have been valuable information to know prior to now,” he tried to keep the frustration from his voice. He was a touch unhappy at the delayed report. “You realize I will need to request a full report of these details, right?”

_Paperwork. Always paperwork._

“Yes, sir,” she answered without question.

Her senior officer squeezed the bridge of his nose right between his eyes, other arm folded over his chest. It was difficult to tell if he was getting a headache, or if the situation was just making his head hurt.

“Alright,” he said after a minute, putting his arm down so that both lay folded across his chest, “so this ‘friend’ of yours, he helped you track down a man from the Institute a couple months back, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it’s this same friend of yours that has relayed communication to you that he has new intel, on a topic he couldn’t identify due to an unsecure channel? What is the likelihood that this intel is somehow related to matters of the Institute?” Paladin Danse wasn’t questioning the Knight’s instincts. More so, he was being cautious about whether or not to invest their time and resources. “Why do you think that’s what he is contacting you about?”

“Because,” Gladen said evenly, “the last time I spoke to him, we were still trying to find a way to get in to the Institute and find out what happened to my son.”

Danse stared at her for a long moment. Calculating, analysing. He was trying to determine how this situation felt, how it sat with him in his gut. Reed was one of the few people that never looked away when his gaze got intense. Most looked down. She didn’t. She stared back with matched focus.

“Alright,” he said finally, regarding the wall in thought. “I’ll allow further investigation of this matter, only because it falls between assignments and, if the intel is accurate, it could provide us with an additional lead in our purpose to find the Institute.”

Knight Reed visibly relaxed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, softness once again back in her voice. “I’ll investigate the source of our communication to ensure the truth of the transmission, then relay an encrypted message to him about a meet-up location and time.”

“Affirmative,” Danse agreed, glad she was being cautious.

The former Vault dweller turned to leave.

Her commanding officer called out before she did, “However, we do this task on one condition; you aren’t going alone. Verify the information, then you and I will meet this contact and find out what he knows.”

Dark brown gaze watched as his recruit visibly stiffened, her back to him. A red flag went up in the Paladin’s mind at the sudden change in posture, not liking the sudden shift at all. Dark eyes watched as the woman turned once more to face him, eyes drawing against the ground thoughtfully before lifting to meet his gaze.

“If you want to come along, sir, I need one thing from you ...” she began slowly, cautiously. Treading ever so carefully on the matter.

“What is it?” he said, tone a little sharp.

He had a feeling that there was something she wasn’t being totally honest about. _Honesty and respect._ It was expected in this team. If she was being dishonest with him, he was of a mind to withdraw his approval for this entire expedition, intel be damned. Expression hardened, unsure of what exactly was going on with Knight Reed.

“Just… when we meet him... please don’t shoot him, sir,” she requested.


	10. Outside the Vault: Day 154

Paladin Danse leaned against the edge of the service counter, face fixed with a brooding look. He was still not quite sure his thoughts on the situation as they waited. A mixture of many matters stole through an analytical mind as a result. It was an unsettling scenario to be thrust into. Fingers drummed idly on the countertop, features broadcasting an obvious sense of unrest.

After leaving the police station to meet up with the contact Reed had mentioned, his recruit had opened up entirely, as well as gave a clear picture of what to expect. At first, she had been apprehensive to say anything at all.

_Understandably so._

It wasn’t everyday that a recruit would have to inform their senior officer that their point of contact was an actual synth from the Institute itself.

“What do you mean your contact is a _synth_?” Danse had reacted appropriately, explosively, at the time. “Reed, the synth are our enemies. A tool of the Institute. They’re one of the reasons we’re out here. Out here fighting in the Commonwealth. Don’t you realize what kind of trap you’re walking us into? I have half a mind to send you back to the Prydwen for assignment to the archives. That way you can see the accounts of hardship they bring. The missing people. The people killed by the unchecked technology. You have no idea the danger you’ve lead us to!”

Paladin Danse had been unable find words eloquent enough to express his sheer frustration at being lead out on such a foolish mission. He’d ranted as he spoke, gesturing dramatically as they stood out in an open field. They were equal distance from their meet and from Cambridge, halfway to the inner core. Nobody had been seen for miles. Surprisingly enough, Knight Reed hadn’t backed down in her position. She didn’t shrink away, didn’t sulk, didn’t look at her boots and apologize, nor did she ask for forgiveness.

“Perhaps the best way to understand synths is to ask a synth,” she’d countered without anger, not trying to feed his temper by offering a straight rebuttal.

_It made no sense to fight fire with fire._

“I don’t agree with this, Reed. Not at all,” Paladin Danse had gestured in a slicing motion through the air. “Why would a synth help us? You might be walking us into a trap. A trap set by the very Institute we’re trying to eradicate. This is a foolish endeavor.”

“He might be a synth, but he’s not on their side,” she had said in the detective’s defense. “Just like there are good and bad people in the world, you don’t trust someone right away. Its earned, right? Well, Nick has never wronged me, and helped me on more than one occasion. That warrants a bit of faith, doesn’t it? Especially if he really does have information about the Institute.”

The discussion had gone on for quite some type. Back and forth, back and forth. Finally, a tentative agreement was made: They would meet with this synth and see what intel he could provide. They would treat the entire situation as if they were walking into a trap from the beginning. Reed would take point on the mission and see what she could find out first. If things went badly, Danse retained authority to destroy every hostile in the immediate area, no questions asked.

Hardware Town was located in the Eastern section of the downtown core, just off the main strip. Tucked away from the main streets, it would allow interaction between the two parties without too many prying eyes or any random visitors. Reed had picked the location specifically for that purpose, having stumbled upon it before in their chaotic travels. Danse completed two sweeps of the building upon arrival; one for hostiles, the other for any potential remote-detonating devices. Once that had been completed, he had also cleared two buildings adjacent to the area. Just to be sure.

_If he was anything, it was thorough._

Then, they waited.

Danse held firm his laser rifle as an awkward silence settled between the two traveling companions. It was not often that they quarreled. In fact, his mind had difficulty recalling the recruit ever really standing up against orders or authoritative direction. She’d been honest with him, which he was grateful for. At least that gave them some warning about what they might encounter. Perhaps it was simply the unknown that was irking the senior officer as silence reigned around them. A potential for things to go wrong, as was apt to happen in a world such as theirs. Danse checked again to make sure his weapon had sufficient ammunition and that the safety was not engaged.

_He was still… It wasn’t mad._

_Frustrated, maybe? Apprehensive?_

 

Hours passed.

 

_Maybe this contact wouldn’t show after all,_ he thought with a sense of hopefulness.

_Perhaps it was all some fool’s errand._

The door to Hardware Town opened and a figure stepped inside, closing the entrance behind him carefully.

“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice rang out from the doorway, Boston-cop drawl announcing his arrival. “Had a bit of a run-in with a certain local reporter looking for the ‘next big scoop’. Had to give her the ole dust-off once I made my way out to this neck of the woods. Didn’t want her crashing our little chat.”

“Nick!” Reed said, smiling at the detective. Helmet was currently not in place, having been taken off and set down nearly an hour before. “It’s good to see you again. Nick, this is my senior off—“

Reed was cut off.

“Not a step further,” the senior officer warned, laser rifle in hand as he took aim at the metallic construct that had just joined them.

“Sir, what are you doing? You promised!” Knight Reed voiced in disagreement, stepping up beside her commander with a stunned expression.

Nick Valentine wisely put his hands up into the air, one hand distinctly missing its synthetic layers.

The Paladin refused to take his eyes off the metallic abomination despite his recruit’s protest.

Reed mustered a glare that was both icy and sharp. It demanded attention and was openly challenging of the situation. The expression seemed foreign on those soft features, as if it didn’t belong there. Those eyes usually smiled, not glared. Those lips were usually laughing, not tight. Neither of those characteristics offered kindness now, only a daring look.

The target was lost in his sights, his recruit stepping purposefully in front of the active weapon. Reticle could see only her chest at the end of the barrel. Finger danced off the trigger, a flare of frustration pulsing through the officer’s hot veins. Eyes narrowed.

“This is my mission,” she said with a lowered tone and an edge on each word. “Let me run it.”

Both shared a look so electric it might have caused sparks. Neither yielded. Neither turned away for several breaths.

Knight Reed refused to stand down.

With what could have only been a growl, Paladin Danse stepped back and lowered his weapon. The laser rifle was put regretfully on the counter beside him in resignation. Arms folded over an armored chest, features darkening into a scowl that threatened to etch permanently into those features. They would have an in-depth talk about the exchange later. That much was certain.

“Your new boyfriend’s a bit jumpy, ain’t he?” Nick said, lowering his hands and brushing off his coat. Metallic fingers straightened his fedora. “Guess that makes sense. Never did get much love from the Brotherhood.”

_He’s not my…_

“He’ll be alright,” Gladen said, glancing back at her commanding officer. The glare that met her gaze could’ve melted the steel of power armor. It bore into her, yet did little to change matters. The Knight continued with taking point.

“You’re right, though," Nick cracked with a wink at Reed, trying to lighten the mood. "He does cut quite the handsome figure in that power armor, huh? T-60 model. Good choice. I can see why you’d want to be working with him on these kinds of missions."

Danse’s sour exterior twitched, a sidelong look being tossed towards his recruit questioningly.

Reed put a hand over her face, a flush rising in her cheeks.

_Great. Thanks Nick._

“Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes, the Institute,” the synth pulled out some papers stashed inside his trench coat, tapping them on a nearby countertop to straighten them out. “Seems you’re not the only ones trying to find a way in, or a way out for that matter. Lots of people have their theories, most of them bogus, though. Some poor sap tried to draw me a map to the place. Said he’d give me a heck of a deal. 500 caps. I’m almost sorry I passed on it.

“The technology, however, is just too advanced for most people to track. Heck, even I can’t be sure of where they are or how to find them, and I’m a synth myself! Discarded prototype, but still… I was still able to track down a possible lead for this particular case, however. A tech-savvy doctor in the central core area. Doctor Amari. She does work at the Memory Den. Worked on me a few times too. Nice gal. Smart as a whip. She says the chip we found inside Kellogg’s head might have some viable information on it, if she can access it. I mean, even if she can access it, the Institute is bound to have failsafes and encryption keeping the information secure. If you still happen to have the chip, we might get lucky, though. Do you still have it, Ms. Reed?”

“I do. I locked it up at my... base of operations for safe-keeping,” she said, leaning over the counter to take a look at the notes Nick had laid out in front of them.

Danse was listened intently now, drawing out of the sulking shell he’d created.

“We knew Kellogg was working with the Institute. There’s a slim chance some of his memories might provide us with a clue as to how he did it. If he was working for them, there must have been some means of communication between them. Maybe even a way to get in,” Nick rehashed the details.

“Sounds like a possible lead,” Gladen allowed herself a moment to be cautiously optimistic.

“Well, it was the best I could come up with, given the circumstances,” Nick said, scratching his head with a synthetic hand. He was, of course, referring to the fact that they had blown up their only lead with a miniaturized nuclear weapon before being able to get any answers from the chap. “Not sure it’ll do us any good unless Amari can decode the chip, though.”

“Do you think they have advanced enough technology to take on that kind of task, sir? At the Prydwen?” Reed said, taking a moment to connect with her superior. The information Nick had presented seemed to have softened the edge of his mood.

At first it seemed that the Paladin was going to remain silent, happy to stew off to the side until the little transaction was complete.

_Dammit._

“It’s possible,” he finally admitted, looking first to Reed before casting another suspicious glance at Nick. “The problem lies in the fact that we’ve never worked on decrypting direct Institute information before.”

“The Institute has multiple levels of security on whatever they work on,” Nick went to say, tapping his own head for emphasis. “Doctor Amari has worked on me before, and a couple of the Gen 3’s that I know of. No easy feat. Out here, she may have the most hands-on experience.”

_Nick had a point._

“It’s worth a shot,” Knight Reed said, tracing a finger across her lower lip in thought, thinking of their next step. “I appreciate your help, Nick. Let me see if I can track down that chip, then Paladin Danse and I will figure out our next step.”

“Sounds good, Ms. Reed. I hope this information helps. We’ve seen firsthand what the Institute is capable of. If I can be of assistance, I’m more than glad to offer my time and services towards bringing them down,” Nick said, smiling at the Vault dweller before glancing at Danse. His yellow eyes glowed unmistakably against the dim light of the broken-down hardware store. “I’m glad you’re staying safe out there, kid. Always important to have someone watching your back these days.”

Reed half-smiled.

“Yeah, I’m in good hands,” the former dweller said in kind. She held her hand out to the detective, shaking his metallic appendage in appreciation. “You do good work, detective. Sorry I always land you with these hard cases.”

Nick chuckled, “Not a problem, Ms. Reed. The tough ones are always some of my favorites. Let me know if you need any help after obtaining that chip. I’d be happy to put you in touch with Doctor Amari. Who knows, she might even give us a referral discount for her services.”

The Knight thanked the synthetic man again before leaving, and offered to pay him once more for his services. Politely, Nick had declined. Tipping his hat, he disappeared out the door. The hardware store fell back into an awkward silence.

Danse somehow found himself not as angry as before. He still detested synths and everything they stood for. That would never change. Yet the contact had provided a level of intel above and beyond anything they’d had in recent months. A lead, at least. Even if it proved out to be a dead end, or a runaround, at least they had some idea of a direction to go on. At worst, they would be right back to where they started. At best, they’d find out a little bit more about the Institute.

_It was worth the trade-off._

Knight Reed began packing up to leave, eager to be on their way. It was never a wise idea to hang around after any type of meeting, especially if Piper had been hot on Nick’s heels. While the Brotherhood may have been brash in how it handled some of its business, Reed was apt to be more cautious and careful herself. No sense in rumors spoiling would-be opportunities.

It was Paladin Danse who broke the silence first.

“Base of operations?” he said, his tone having lost its bitter edge from earlier.

Reed sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, turning to look up at her commanding officer.

“What else was I supposed it; my home away from home?”

* * *

Their venture from the downtown core was straightforward and without difficulty. Neither spoke much, save for the most basic of communications related to their route. It wasn’t an awkward lull of conversation so much as it was a void, a hole where a topic sat waiting for the moment it would be discussed.

It had been Paladin Danse who started up conversation once again.

“Knight,” he said with a deep breath, giving thought to his next words as they walked, “there are ways things are done, and have always been done, out here. The world isn’t like what you may remember. It has its good parts, but there are parts that are still uncivilized and downright dangerous. People that are ready to take advantage of others for profit. And those are just the humans.

“When you told me that your contact, this detective friend of yours, was a synth, I had every right to be upset. He may have had vital intel, but we didn’t know if he posed a danger or not. We still don’t. What if he is under control of the Institute and you are putting yourself in direct danger by associating with it? Understand that my reaction wasn’t representative of your capabilities as a soldier. It was, instead, a direct reflection of the unknowns of the situation."

Only the sound of crushing dried grass beneath their footsteps followed them as they walked.

“Reed,” the Paladin said firmly, stopping. He did not appreciate being ignored.

The Knight paused, unwilling to meet his gaze as she regarded the dead world before her. There were still times where she was reminded of just how different she must be to their eyes.

“Look, sir,” she said, voice lacking notes of anger or bitterness that might have been expected. The notes were even, perhaps with a hint of irritation. “I’m doing the best I can. Perhaps my methods are a little unorthodox, but I know how dangerous it is out here. You grew up seeing these monsters; I didn’t. Maybe I respect the dangers more than you seem to think. I just try to maintain a calm exterior to avoid being identified as someone new here. You said it yourself that Vault dwellers are easily preyed upon. A confident exterior is just a tool I use to keep that fact a secret. Don’t misunderstand it for naivety.

“Nick and I had success before. I figured it was worth the risk to obtain new intel. You and Quinlan even talked about the stagnant flow of information about the Institute.  Multiple teams are on the lookout for that kind of data, and we haven’t turned up anything new in ages. This was an opportunity. So, I came to you. I value your input, your experience and your skill with matters I may still be unfamiliar with. That was fine. But, I would never ask you to come on a mission without understanding the details of it entirely. That was why I told you about Nick, about him being a synth prototype. I didn’t want you to be caught off-guard.”

Reed’s tone grew a touch more agitated as the words continued, revealing honest emotions that bubbled beneath the calm surface.

“I would never risk putting you, or anyone in our squad, in direct danger. If I’d felt it was too questionable, too much of a risk, I wouldn’t have brought it to you in the first place. I would have ignored the matter and proceeded with regular duties. But, the information was sound, the situation viable. Why do you think I arranged for the meeting away from the central core? Away from the Super mutants. A non-populated area. An area that had plenty of cover and escape options. I gave that all considerable thought before even broaching the subject, just like you taught me. And you threw it back at me as if I were some settlement civilian that didn’t understand. Like I was clueless. I may be new here, but I’m not about to jeopardize the lives of others. I’m not that foolish.”

The Knight’s grip on her rifle tightened. For a brief second it looked as if she might throw the weapon in a moment of frustration. Instead she just stared off in the distance for a short time before her body language began to soften. Red-copper hair swayed as she shook her head.

Green eyes met his, searching. “I thought after all the training, the missions, opportunities to take point, even doing my own reconnaissance... all those instances would add weight to my credibility. Perhaps I was wrong to make the assumption.”

Reed was an anomaly. The woman was never usually outright challenging, but frequently offered alternative perspectives or solutions that were unique to various situations. It was the first time any true quarrel had broken out between the two after nearly three months out on the wasteland. Disagreements were human nature. They happened, especially when under stress. A write-up would only take place if it was a repeated, and unsolvable, offense.  Even Haylen had spoken out of turn a measure or two. Danse was not about to complete a report for this lone instance, given the gravity of the situation

_Perhaps the Vault dweller’s methods were… unusual._

Risky, in his eyes. Yet, there was logic there. Unconventional logic, but it had moments of ingenuity. Paladin Danse rested a hand on each of the Vault dweller’s shoulders purposefully, making sure to hold her gaze as he spoke.

“Reed, listen,” he said with a direct tone, “I do trust you, and I trust your decisions. If that hasn’t been made clear by now, then I’m sorry that I haven’t been more forthcoming in saying so. You perform admirably as a fellow member of this team. I’ve met many Knights during my time with the Brotherhood, and out of all of them, you would be one of the top few I’d ask for if they told me to pick someone to watch my back. Normally, I am the one used to carrying the burden of looking out for the entire team, of ensuring everyone’s safety. I trust my brothers and sisters in arms, but the task of keeping them safe… I take it personally, both as an officer and a squadmate.”

His brown eyes were softly colored, rich like earth, the slightest flecks of gold near the centre of the iris.

“You think you have to do all this by yourself,” he commented, thinking back to the brief mention of the Kellogg fellow. Of her seeking vengeance as a lone fighter. “It troubles me to think of you going out on missions like this by yourself. I want to make sure you are not rushing off into something you can’t handle. Certain excursions are well within your means to deal with. You are a fine marksmen and strategically savvy enough for that. Instances like this, however… Reed, what if you encountered something unexpected?”

_A deathclaw._ _Hostile synths_.

“What if you were outflanked on your way there or back?”

_Feral ghouls. Super mutants. Human Raiders._

“With no one there as support, what could happen to you? I would feel I failed you as a leader if something were to happen and I could have prevented it.”

His words were surprisingly heartfelt.

“I came along to keep you safe,” Danse explained pointedly. “I do appreciate that you came to me about this contact, rather than rushing off. My experiences have left me more critical-than-not of unfamiliar scenarios. I do agree, in this instance, that the risk was well worth the reward if sufficient intel is garnered from this meeting. You will just have to accept the fact that the situations we sometimes face are situations I have spent my entire life fighting against. It would be illogical for me to change that perspective in a single moment. I respect what you are trying to do here, and I will do my best to support you in it. Even if that means being critical about matters for your own good.”

“If we are to be an efficient team, sir,” she said openly, holding his gaze with a measured level of intensity, “then I need you to trust me. I need you to trust that I’m as capable as Rhys or Haylen or Fledge. You’ve let me take point numerous times now on other missions. If you genuinely believe that I’m capable, that I’m ready to fulfill my role as a Knight, I need to be able to show you in all instances. Not just with the easy operatives. You shouldn’t have to worry about me every time.”

_But... he did worry._

Paladin Danse reflected on the words, nearly speaking in turn. There was a moment as if he were to say something, but a shake of his head cast the thoughts aside.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “If I am saying you are capable, then I should be willing to show that with my actions as well. I will ensure I take such a notion into consideration, and better set an example in allowing you to take the lead when warranted from this point forward.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said gratefully.

“Is this now resolved?” he pressed. Any conflict within a team was best dealt with swiftly, least animosity was given a chance to fester and become a serious matter later on.

A nod was given as the response.

“I think so,” she said, appreciating, once again, the direct nature of her commanding officer.

“Good. We should continue, if we are to make it to the co-op by nightfall.”

“Agreed,” she stated, then a pause. “Thank you, sir.”

“For what?” he asked with a hint of confusion.

“For not shooting Nick.”

_In truth, he nearly had._

“You asked me not to."

“I know,” she confirmed, having witnessed the reflex, the look in his eyes when Nick had walked in the door. “I just want you to know that I appreciate the restraint.”

Danse thought for a moment. It had been a conscious effort not to destroy the synth on sight. Had it not been for her warning previously, he very well might have.

It had been one of her few requests of him that he could ever recall her making.

It had overridden instincts ingrained deep within his core values.

_Interesting._

“You’re welcome,” he replied.


	11. Outside the Vault: Day 155

“This isn’t what I expected to see,” Paladin Danse said as the settlement rose into view.

Civilians had taken matters into their own hands and faced off against the harshness of the world through fortification, not unlike the way the Brotherhood set up their own outposts. A reinforced wall perimeter. Minimal entrances into the main area. Watchmen posted at various outcroppings all along the high fence wall. Even turrets could be heard whirling, the familiar sputtering sound of gear assemblies and basic engines rattling a warning to any hostiles that strayed too close.

It appeared the Brotherhood weren’t the only ones fighting to make a stand. Sunshine Co-op had a strong sense of presence as they approached the flourishing compound.

_A good sign._

A shout was heard from one of the guard posts, instructing the persons below to open the gate. They were being welcomed in without difficulty or negotiations. Metal groaned against metal as the heavy wooden gate was freed from its brackets, swinging inwardly with a low note. It took effort to swing the gate, but a heavy reinforced barricade was mandatory when located so close to greenskin territory.

Glad’s voice rang out, giving a shout to the man on the catwalk that had hailed them. Paladin Danse took in the details of their set-up as his recruit lead the way in.

“Theo, how are those new turrets holding up?” she bantered, as if speaking to a familiar acquaintance.

Leaning over the railing, an older man smiled and gave a nod.

“Running smooth, Ms. Gladen. We appreciate the assist! Tell Preston I owe him one next time I see him,” Theo tossed down in a dry voice, a grizzled human specimen whose skin was sun-scorched from the road. Features were aged well before his time, and wrinkles puckered where once must have been a grievous wound. Still, he had two good eyes and seemed to put them to good use, boasting a modified rifle that looked to be set-up in sniper fashion.

“I’ll be sure to pass along your regards,” she responded in turn, tone light-hearted.

The conversation ended as both offered a friendly wave in parting.

Paladin Danse regarded the Knight at his side with his typical hard-to-read expression. He lifted an eyebrow slightly as he looked over at her, “Seems you’ve been busy.”

Reed shook her head, turning eyes to her officer, “Preston, General of the Minutemen, helps settlements all over the Commonwealth when they require aid. Sometimes its defenses. Sometimes its food. Sometimes its completely out of the ordinary. If I pass by one of the settlements between missions, I’ll take a moment and provide assistance when needed. It isn’t terribly hard to set up relay towers. That way they can communicate more effectively with other settlements nearby. Or to put people in contact with one another for trade deals. Or I send for Codsworth to add an extra couple of hands with repairs or modifications. That’s just something I do here and there. It’s not much, but it gives them an advantage.”

The superior officer surprised her by nodding in approval as they walked.

“It makes sense,” he said, the tone of his voice thoughtful as he reflected on the topic. “An exposed and weak settlement is an easy target for hostiles out here. United, they stand a much better chance of defending themselves. Good work.”

Reed couldn’t help a smile, “Thank you, sir.”

Several settlers worked the garden expansion, sprouts beginning to show promise against the black dirt. A few others tended to other miscellaneous tasks throughout the compound. Most wore a patchwork of gear or clothing, nothing really matching in any one particular way. Still, they wore more than rags. Those that were posted to the gates even boasted basic armor. It certainly was no Brotherhood, but it was a vast improvement over most groups or families that kept to the outskirts.

Gladen lead the way, approaching the largest of the buildings. It was fairly tall, about the height of a house, and spanned a sizable square footage. Parts of the structure seemed original, the wood weathered and grey. Other sections of the walls had been reinforced with an assortment of scraps. It was pieced together with a focus in functionality more than form. Windows that were broken had been boarded up from within. A few that were still intact even appeared recently cleaned.

It was a workshop. Not like the Prydwen, of course, but still respectable. Electrical lamps illuminated the dark interior in spotlight fashion. Tools of all sorts hung along the walls. Scrap lay in sorted heaps in various stages of organization on the ground. Even a modified hoist was currently holding aloft a partially assembled turret engine. Belts hung from brackets on the wall alongside ancient schematics. Blueprints that were of use had been mounted with care, looking frail and brittle as their edges cracked from the pins that held them.

Their path lead them through the mess of salvage to a rear door. Upon reaching it, Reed took that moment to disembark from her T-60, opting to continue on foot. A latch and padlock barred the way, held firmly to the windowless office door. Deft hands made short work of combination, spinning the dials with practiced grace. The hinges didn’t budge at first, but with some insistence, the door was levered open.

**Click.**

A single bulb flickered and buzzed to life, throwing the office into a golden glow.

The room was small and about the size of his own quarters aboard the Prydwen. It, too, was simple. A single bed. One nightstand with a broken leg. A storage trunk that might have once been blue, capped with silver edges. Wooden floor was uneven and warped. A small bookshelf held aloft a few minimal provisions and trinkets. Off to the side, a handful of classic novels could be seen stacked in a corner on top of an empty milk crate.

“Welcome to my ‘home away from home’,” Gladen said anticlimactically, wiping the grime off her hands and settling herself down in front of the dusty trunk. It, too, had a combination lock, albeit a much smaller one.

“You... stay here?” he asked, having to turn sideways to step inside with his power armor on.

“Only on the rarest of occasions,” she answered, fingers removing the lock with practiced ease and putting it on the floor beside her. “I trade the settlers supplies or caps to keep this room available to me. It’s a fall-back location. You know, if anything were to happen and I ended up needing a safe place to stay for the night. I also keep spare caps, weapons and ammunition stashed under the loose floorboards over there, under the bed.”

“Clever,” the Paladin said approvingly. They were on the road so much that she likely did not spend much time at the location, he suspected. A fallback outpost was never an ill plan.

The Knight seemed relieved to find the blue jumpsuit within the storage locker, unfolding it carefully on her lap. Yellow letters distinctly stood out against the blue contrast: ‘Vault 111’.

Danse regarded the garment with interest. Having not been to the location himself, and relying exclusively on reports about the Vault, there were still moments that seemed to lend credibility to the ongoing truth of her past. The relic could certainly be counted as one of those occasions. A real piece of history. It looked practically new.

“Here it is,” Gladen said with a tone of victory, lifting up the small object from a sea of fabric folds.

The Paladin was still wearing his power armor, so he opted not to try and handle the delicate chip. Instead, he leaned forward, inspecting it as the young woman offered it up to him. The senior officer’s expression hardened slightly as his thoughts turned to the matter at hand.

“You really believe this chip might hold the key to finding out more about the Institute?”

Knight Reed’s own expression became stoic, calm, and almost cold.

“When I fished this out of what remained of Kellogg’s skull, it wasn’t because I thought we could find a way to use it,” she said, completely honest. “I kept it because it confirmed to me that Kellogg really was dead, and that it was the Institute who had hired him to take my son. Proof that the two really had worked in tandem. If we can use it now to get further intel about those bastards, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Part of her had already given up hope on ever finding Shaun, at least alive. Not out here. Not against people like that. If anything drove her, it was the idea of closure. The idea of finding out the truth, and about extracting vengeance against those who had a hand in the conflict. She put the chip into a pocket, tapping it lightly as if double-checking it was secure.

“Did you want to stay here for another day, Knight?” Paladin Danse asked, unsure of where his companion’s mind was at.

“I’d rather just get back out onto the road, sir,” she stated simply, hoping they hadn’t needlessly worried the locals by arriving in full power armor.

“Agreed,” he supported, then hesitated.

With a whisper, some sixth sense gave an encouraging nudge. It was a gut feeling. A feeling of opportunity. Tomorrow would be Cambridge. After that, it could be any manner of interruptions. A new mission from HQ. Elder Maxson could request audience. Reassignment could send them on differing errands as long as was deemed necessary. It was a feeling as if this moment could slip away at any point, and might not be found again for some time.

“Reed,” he beckoned, drawing the woman’s attention.

Mind instantly reeled at the idea of what he was about to say. Yet, the floor was there and waiting for a voice. Paladin Danse broke eye contact, looking down and away briefly as if reorganizing thoughts. A handful of heartbeats passed before he was able to hold her gaze once more.

“Before we head back, I wanted to say that I’ve been giving it a lot of thought since our last discussion. You’re right. Perhaps I do worry about you more than I should. Not because you’re not capable. I know you’re more than capable. I just… Look I’m… not very good at this kind of thing,” he said, clearing his throat and shifting weight from one foot to another uneasily.

“As your senior officer, I’m supposed to keep matters between us on a strictly professional level. However, traveling with you these past few months… You are someone I am proud to call a part of my team. You are different from what I am used to, and I find the change welcome. The way you go about tasks is, well, unusual... but eye opening.

“I look to you not only as a member of The Brotherhood, but as a close friend, someone I can share my thoughts with. Maybe...” he hesitated, then decided to speak around the pit of anxiety in his stomach. “Maybe... something more. I just… I wanted to know if… well I wanted to ask if these past  months have been as meaningful to you as they have been to me? Or, if, moving forward, you believe matters between us would best remain exclusively professional and nothing more?”

 

_Smooth._

 

Reed regarded him with an expression he found difficult to decipher.

The pit of anxiety twisted tighter.

“What… are you trying to say, sir?” she clarified.

A cold wave of dread washed over him, mingled with a hint of regret for ever speaking such thoughts. Danse wondered if she could the pounding in his chest. Emerald eyes held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity. The words felt heavy as they hung in the air. Nerves began to tremble, overcome by the sudden realization that all those unspoken thoughts had just been put into words.

“I… uh…” he stammered, truly living up to his prior evaluation of emotional proficiency skills and the lack thereof. A crimson flush warmed battle-worn features as the officer fought to continue. “I have never had a companion like you, and I’ve grown particularly fond of your company. I... quite like you, Reed. Not just as a senior officer and recruit, but… as a man may like a woman.”

It was touching to witness the brief loss of composure held by the Paladin. The way he stammered and stumbled through words as if out of practice, where usually there was elegance and professionalism in each phrase or remark. Where had normally stood a commanding officer had suddenly become just a man, existing in the world like any other soul. Emotions. Fears. Just like everybody else.

Life was different compared to 2077. Each day felt like its own miniature lifetime. Hours crept by slowly if not occupied by engaging mission operatives or tasks for survival. Watches highlighted the slow transcendence of time, days and nights spent observing a scorched landscape void of most life. Dried grass. Spindly trees. Rocks. Dirt. It gave time for the mind to meander, to muse of many things. In that, time passed slowly. Each day truly felt infinitely longer than before.  What had been only months upon the field began to feel like years.

With such respect to the passage of time, it brought with it a sense of gratitude when all was well. No grumbling about Mondays, no attempting to simply survive the work week just to get to the weekend. Even though time passed strangely now, there was more purpose than perhaps ever before. An appreciation for even the smallest moments of victory or joy. Nobody truly knew how long they’d have left, or if the day on which they woke would be their last. There was a natural tendency to live in each moment as they happened, rather than yearning for future events that might never come to pass.

Gladen Reed knew who she had been long ago. That person did not stand here now. That person had been buried in the past, left behind in the wake of destruction and heartache. A decision had come to press on and learn to be part of this existence rather than fostering animosity at all that had changed. At first there had been fear, but it began to feel familiar. It felt as if an identity had begun to solidify. A new person. Reborn of the world. Growing more comfortable with the way things were.

Perhaps that was why she had found herself attaching to him so as the weeks drew on. Not only was Paladin Danse a mentor, an instructor, an officer, familiar with the world and all its ways, but he was also kind, thoughtful of others, patient and charismatic in his own unique manner. It had been magnetic. An attraction forged over time.

It was a small smile that overtook her features. Delicate, touching eyes softly. Bare hands slowly closed the storage truck with the quiet thump.

“I’ve grown fond of you as well, sir,” Reed confessed.

_Oh._

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting entirely. For someone that took pride in considering all possible outcomes, this particular scenario had been left untested in a fretting mind. A smile crossed his features in turn, perhaps the most genuine one Reed had ever witnessed on the Paladin thus far. It was still a dash shy, even a little unsure, but there was an element of excitement there that was contagious.

“Really?” he breathed, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

_It was endearing._

“I’ve wanted to tell you the same, but... never quite knew how,” she admitted, a hint of color touching her features.

Danse ran an armored hand back through his black tresses, a habit that seemed to only come to surface on the rarest of occasions. It did little to distract from the delighted expression he wore.

“I’m... happy to hear you say that,” the commanding officer said with a helpless grin, seeming entirely out of his element.

It was a strange new sensation to know such feelings were equally reciprocated.

_He could see himself getting used to it._


	12. Outside the Vault: Day 158

“Don’t let it bite you,” he cautioned, observing the scene at a distance with casual interest.

“I don’t ever just _let_ things bite me,” she retorted with a frown.

_It was stronger than it looked. Heavier, too._

It hissed at the intrusion and violation of personal space. Legs flailed as the body was picked up and hoisted into the air unceremoniously. None of the brown flailing limbs could reach behind itself to address the new foe that had captured it. Agitated, it began to chatter loudly as if disputing the man-handling.

_Was it drooling?_

“Gross.”

Just as soon as it had been picked up and moved, it was being dropped out through a second story window. No remorse. No hesitation. Had it not been struggling so, the former Vault dweller might have even hurled the creature for distance.

“Why didn’t you just shoot it?”

Curiosity took hold as the woman ventured to peer down, leaning a few inches past the white window frame that no longer boasted any glass. Either the radroach had bounced out of sight, or it had immediately skittered away into hiding. It didn’t really matter.

“I don’t want to deal with attracting feral ghouls at this hour,” she explained.

With a grimace, Gladen Reed wiped bare hands off on already-dirty pants. Fortunately, none of the saliva had managed to get onto her skin or clothing. It had been a rather odd solution to the problem, but the radroach hadn’t necessarily attacked them on sight. It had mostly chattered and made a scene, but hadn’t done any damage to the duo.

"I could have stepped on it instead, I suppose," she offered jestfully. “Back in my day, these things were much smaller.”

Danse huffed a laugh in amusement at the mental image of her trying such a feat with the giant insects as they were now. An amusing, if ineffective, concept.

"That would have only made it angry," he remarked logically. "If I get attacked in the night by an angry radroach seeking revenge, I will be quite displeased."

"I suppose that means I get first watch," she deduced, the last of their rounds completed.

"Affirmative."

It was an predictable remark, as they often took the same watch rotation night after night. With just two in their team for the time being, their rhythm was consistent and unchanged over the weeks. Gladen often took first watch, while Paladin Danse would opt for the second. As much as the road was enjoyable with its sense of freedom and flexibility, having more than two people to divide the night by would be a welcome reprieve.

Their camp for the evening was a run-down farmhouse posted in the lee of a jutting hill. Two stories tall with walls relatively intact. Siding had once been pristine white-washed panels and quant shuttered windows. It was old, cracked and worn, but still had a remarkable sense of character. There was even a veranda. A sweep of the interior had revealed no unexpected hostiles. Radroaches had skittered away with the arrival of sweeping flashlights, but a few of the largest ones stood their ground at the approach on the first floor. Danse had dealt with them quickly during the initial sweep. Reed had dealt with the lingering one upstairs in her own manner.

As was routine, both T-60s were given a basic once-over before they divvied up dinner. Weapons were checked, magazines reloaded if need be. Equipment for the night was unpacked, such as perimeter mines and a few extra explosives to have on-hand. Each settled in, at ease and as relaxed as an unsecured bunking location would allow for the night.

Paladin Danse took to his bedroll once the final sweep had been done of the building. Second watch could be the more trying of the two, and the commanding officer often preferred to turn in early for a few extra moments of sleep before the switch. A mild insomniac, he often had unusual sleeping patterns. Rest was like a new mission for him each night.

Reed took up arms, stationing herself between the two floors on the only accessible set of stairs. The floorboards were old and wooden, creaking with each step or minor amount weight put upon them. It was like the house itself possessed a built-in alarm system. Fortunately, the stairs were old-fashioned and wide. It was easy to perch upon them without much discomfort, and without making too much noise. There was no sense in walking around. A fragmentation mine guarded both entrances. It was best to remain silent while on watch. No boasting. No lights. No patrolling. They weren't at Cambridge. They weren’t at a manned station. Out here, they were just two people. Battle-tested people armed with powerful weapons, practice and ammunition to spare, but still people. No sense inviting trouble if it were just easier to lay low and stay quiet.

Despite yearning for her bedroll, and trying not to think about the mild ache in the arches of her feet after a long days walk, there was a pleasant expression on the contemplative woman’s features. Matters after leaving the co-op had been different between the two. No more stolen glances. No more hesitation or caution when it came to straying too close. Touch seemed no longer purposefully avoided. The Paladin was still her senior officer and still in charge. That had not changed. What had changed was the mannerisms in which they shared. Such as when they were bunking in for the night. The casual talk as they broke meals together. An ease of existence, knowing that certain feelings beneath the surface were mutually shared. He had even taken her hand in the occasional daring moment, squeezing it with marked care as a warm look was exchanged. She, too, had even taken to such gestures. A hand upon a shoulder while leaning in to regard a repair on their power armor. A close twining of forms if multiple hands were needed to address a paticular issue. It was comfortable.

 _There would be none of that once they returned to Cambridge,_ she knew.

It would be professional.

Time passed slowly, as it was often wont to do. The only thing to signal the passage of time was the sense a person’s body had, its own internal clock. With only a sliver of a moon outside, and an often-overcast sky, it could be difficult to determine exact timeframes. Practice was really key for determining the watch shift.

Wood groaned softly above and behind the woman as the night drew on, startling the senses and causing rifle to snap to attention out of reflex. It lowered quickly as heart sought to slow. Without power armor, Danse could move with the stealth of a feline. His outline was but a shadowed silhouette in the nearly-moonless evening. Careful strides carried him down the stairs without difficulty, coming to roost beside his female companion.

“It isn’t your watch for another hour or so,” she chided softly, whispering in the pin-drop quiet of the house.

“I know,” he verified, settling in beside her. “Couldn’t sleep. I’ll take second watch early, if you wish to turn in.”

“You sure?” Gladen double-checked. It was not an unusual conversation, having happened half a dozen times on missions prior.

He nodded, “No sense in both of us being up, especially if you can be sleeping.”

There was little use fighting it. Reed had tried protesting the matter before. The outcome had always been the same.

Armed rifle was passed into his waiting hands, calluses gripping Righteous Authority with ease. Pride came with the observation of how well the weapon had been maintained outside of his care. Even before they had taken to the Prydwen, and Reed promoted to the rank of Knight, she had treated the weapon with respect. It had been one of the deciding factors in his conclusion to invite the lone woman into the fold. Not the sole factor, no, but a contributing detail.

Despite the promise of a warm bedroll and a night of much-needed sleep, the smaller form that was his traveling partner did not depart right away. Instead, it lingered, and even drew close. It was not an unwelcome proximity, bringing with it a sense of calm. Thoughts drifted away of matters related to the Prydwen, of Cambridge, of their next step come morning light. In the moment, it was not a Paladin stationed with his Knight at some outpost. It was Danse as a person, enjoying the companionship of someone he had come to think fondly of.

A hand that had been broken and scarred more times than could be counted came to rest upon her knee. The gesture seemed to encourage closeness from the woman in his company, who curled up against him with a content look. An arm gently wound its way around his own, a delicate hand coming to rest upon his. It revealed surprising contrast in size and texture when comparing the two extremities. One large and battleworn. The other more slender and lacking most scars. Copper-red hair shifted as she leaned against his upper arm and shoulder, green eyes closing in the dim light.

Neither moved, time drifting slowly by as both enjoyed the company.

It was only after her breaths began to take on a softness that he finally interuptted the moment.

“Go get some rest,” he suggested, voice still just a note above a whisper as he regarded the nearly-sleeping woman against him.

She roused, contemplating the words that had been spoken through a sleepy haze.

“Alright,” she conceded, and untwined regretfully.

A hesitation. Instead, Gladen drew close once more.

Delicate fingertips touched the very edge of his jawline, as if to silently bid his attention over. Soft lips found his half a heartbeat later. It was an inviting embrace, nearly fleeting. They sought his with both care and affection, neither lustful nor demanding. They settled without hurry. A gentle connection. Warm. Sweet. Mind may have been caught off guard by the sudden gesture, but, thankfully, his body found itself returning the kiss without hesitation. Flesh seemed to know how better to respond than the mind did. Or, at least, in a more timely manner. An instinctive response rather than one consciously made.

He exhaled, pulse elevated as they parted.

“Goodnight,” she spoke tiredly, each note betraying the small smile that played on her features.

“Goodnight,” his brain managed to formulate with moderate precision.

Faint footsteps echoed as she took once more to the second floor.

Paladin Danse was left alone with his thoughts, their whirling and musing giving reason for the recent lack of sleep. Feelings and notions coursed through each vein, many of them unfamiliar or unknown. Matters that had never crossed his mind before now whispered occasionally here and there. The commanding officer had always thought that the Brotherhood would continue to be the driving force in all things related to his existence. His sole purpose in everything.

_Maybe it wasn’t so simple after all._


	13. Outside the Vault: Day 176*

A Brotherhood-wide notice had been sent forth by order of Elder Maxson to address a particularly difficult and risky mission. Reports confirmed the presence of an oversized hostile just off the Eastern coastline that posed a distinct threat to those in the immediate area. Given that it was not terribly far from the airport itself, there was cause for concern. Paladin Danse had been sent for specifically to lead the multi-team assault. It would require a joint effort, calling on a variety of skilled veterans at their disposal.

Danse and Fledge had left, meeting up with the other Knights and teams aboard the Prydwen for briefing. Knight Reed remained behind, along with Haylen, Rhys and Max.

Duties and routine were the same day-in and day-out until they were told otherwise, waiting for word from HQ.

When communication finally did come through from Doctor Amari herself, the female Knight was able to pick up a quick assignment from Haylen for tech acquisition in the downtown core. A low-priority bit of equipment, but it was an opportunity to leave the station all the same. It took a bit of coaxing and convincing, but Rhys finally approved the leave and appeared in no rush to have the detested squad-mate return anytime soon.

_That suited Gladen just fine._

No doubt Paladin Danse would have been interested in coming along for the intel, but the opportunity was too delicate and time-sensitive to wait. In reflection, it had worked out, perhaps even better for having gone alone. Good Neighbor was certainly not a place the commander would have enjoyed in the least. All manner of unsavoury characters ended up in those back-alley streets, darkened market stalls and seedy bar. That, and Reed was able to go in wearing civilian gear rather than BOS armor. No sense in broadcasting her alliance in such a questionable place. Like Nick had said, not everyone had a love for the Brotherhood.

It did prove to be an excellent opportunity to do some much needed networking and merchant dealing. Garbed in simple road leathers, license plate shoulder pad and all manner of pipe-weapons, she’d garnered only mild attention upon entering the sketchy settlement. Only one fight had broken out, quickly settled by a couple of the larger hands. Even Mayor Hancock played a role directly in the fisticuffs, solving the problem permanently when the would-be-troublemaker tried to make a stand against him.

_Interesting character, that Hancock._

The trip to Good Neighbor turned into an entire event rather than just some fleeting visit. First, with Hancock and the entrance brawl. Then, interesting trade discussions about all manner of unusual supplies with CLEO and Daisy. Following that was a visit to Doctor Amari. And, finally, ending the day by getting half-cut at the local bar in an attempt to drown the dug-up sorrows found on that chip. Surprisingly enough, Mayor Hancock had joined her.

There were no answers to find at the bottom of a glass, but, sometimes, the mind just needed a break from the harshness of reality. Drunks were not often the best company, but the local folks at Good Neighbor would surely create some interesting stories for the telling. At one point, Gladen had even ended up in a knife-throwing contest against a few of the semi-sober crowd, scoring a handful of caps in the process as bets were thrown about.

_That part of the mission would best be left off the record, of course._

The following day, Reed was thankful for the shielding nature of her helmet’s visor against the sun. A headache and hangover pounded at the senses, tongue dry and craving purified water. Hancock had even insisted that the strange woman come by anytime she wished, so it appeared there hadn’t been anything terribly embarrassing to happen between lapses of memory.

Operations at Cambridge were routine, as always, after her return. Jess was no longer regulated by her mentor, and thus, had taken up time with the former Vault occupant. Unchecked questions were able to finally be asked, satiating some pent-up curiosity ever since investigating Vault 111. The discussions had been an interesting perspective, the inquiries entirely different from those that Proctor Quinlan had probed about.

The Scribe was a unique person to be sure. Quiet, but passionate. Scholarly, but fierce. Logical, but occasionally wildly off-the-books, depending on the situation.

Knight Rhys had kept his distance from the duo, speaking only to Haylen when the other Knight was occupied.

Gladen was currently filling sandbags to keep busy, stockpiling in case they wished to reinforce or expand the police-yard perimeter to any degree. There had been a few assignments that helped pass the time, mostly small scale trips that took less than a few hours. They’d all patrolled Cambridge a handful of times as well, giving the mind a break from the repetitive landscape of their front door.

Part of the Knight wished she’d requested a day or two to make a quick venture over to the community of Sanctuary. It had been a length of time since last dealing with them directly. No doubt there would be resources she could trade for that would make the trip worth it. Fresh produce especially, now that the gardens were in place and the giant mole rat population properly eradicated.

Knight Rhys had seniority in the Paladin's absence. If it wasn’t part of orders, then it would not be approved. End of story.

_Shame. It would have been a nice change from the current goop that served as meals._

Shovel worked at the loose ground, filling an open burlap sack with more dirt.

“Okay, so what is a ‘pineapple’?” Jess was asking, journal open on her lap with an old world textbook propped up on the ground beside her.

“Hawaii had a lot of them. South America too, I think,” Reed rattled off, familiar with the pacing of the questions by now. “A kind of fruit. They were yellow inside, spiky top. Kind of rough to get into. Sweet, though. Really unique taste and texture.”

Haylen made a face, “That doesn’t sound like an apple.”

A sigh. It was getting hot, especially with the physical work. Muscles were getting tired. With luck, sleep would come easily later.

“Similar name, different kind of fruit,” Reed tried to answer simply.

“Alright,” Jess decided to move on, finger touching the next word on her document. “Okay, what’s a pine tree? Is that what grows a pine apple?”

“Haylen, what are you reading?” Gladen finally looked up.

A heavy book was hoisted up, the cover marred by grime and dirt from over the years. Golden words printed in foil stood inlaid against a black background. It read: Oxford Dictionary.

“This has plenty of information, but not a vast amount of context,” the Scribe explained.

The Knight groaned.

“No more today, Haylen,” she begged with a light-hearted tone.

“Tomorrow? How about more tomorrow?”

A vertibird drifted into audible range, interrupting the scene.

Green eyes looked up from her work, sweat beaded on a focused brow. Fatigues were unzipped down to mid-torso and loose fabric arms tied in a utility knot in front. A grey tank top clung tightly to the flesh underneath as if nearly a size too small. Muscles were highlighted with a mild sheen from the repetitive exercise. An elbow propped on the end of the dug-in shovel, leaning on it as the duo regarded the aircraft’s approach.

"Think its Paladin Danse?" Jess offered, the scribe pausing as well as she looked up from her ledger.

"Could be," Gladen mused. "He wasn't sure when they'd wrap up that mission. What the hell is a Mirelurk Queen anyway?"

"Big, bad and ugly," Haylen said with a shudder.

"So, like everything else around here."

"Pretty much. Just... bigger. And they spit acid that can melt armor. Nasty buggers. They require a huge team to take down," Haylen brushed hair back away from her face as a light breeze picked up. "Could just be a supply run too. We’re due for rations about now. Starting to get a bit low on certain items.”

_Damn. So, there really had been an opportunity to trade with Sanctuary. Too late now._

"If it's our commanding officer..." Reed cautioned with a sidelong glance at the other woman.

Twin hands came up innocently, one still holding a shortened pencil, "I know, I know. I won't tell him just how many questions I've asked you."

"Good. I'd hate to write up that report. I can't even begin to remember everything we've talked about," the newest Knight of the squad said, cringing at the idea.

“Are you looking forward to having him back?” Jess spoke in a playful hush, leaning in close.

Gladen mustered a warning look at Haylen.

_Damn analysts._

A grin met the glare in turn.

While women were frequently seen within the Brotherhood, it wasn’t often they were posted with minimal supervision and left to their own devices for hours on end. It was a nice social change. A chance to discuss topics that were perhaps more gender oriented. Goodness knew there were certain topics Reed would prefer not discussing in a large mixed group. Haylen had been good sport about it all.

As promised, Reed had said nothing with regards to her involvement with their commanding officer. It had been the Scribe who broached the subject a few days back.

“Don’t worry, I only ever bother you two about it,” she reassured with a wave of her pencil-wielding hand. “Rhys doesn’t even know.”

“Good. Keep it that way. He hates me enough already,” Reed quickly tried to end the subject as they packed up their gear. “No sense in adding fuel to that fire.”

“He just doesn’t like change,” the Scribe tried to offer sympathetically. “He really does mean well. It just... takes a while for him to trust anyone.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Reed said without sympathy. “The world is full of change and strangers.”

Vertiblades grew louder as the vessel made its approach to the appointed location. Wind stirred up all manner of dirt and dust as the metallic beast spun to make the marked landing. Duties at the station were temporarily put aside as the team’s day was now interrupted by the unexpected arrival. Haylen was quick to drop off her items inside, clutching the delicate paper notes protectively. Rhys was also inside, with the younger Max having gone in to retrieve him.

Reed set aside the hand tools, crossing the yard to the side of the police building with a note of excitement in each step. Deft hands, now developing their own calluses through the repetitive work, climbed the steel-wrung ladder ease. The other squadmates would likely use the main staircase and access door on the rooftop to get to the vertibird.

Forearm lifted protectively, eyes blinking wildly against the swirling grit. The last of the downward drafts ended with a cutting of the engine and dying of the wind. Blades continued to spin for a few moments longer, powered only by a waning centripetal force. It was indeed a supply drop. Crates were stacked at the open door of the aircraft’s fuselage, secured with cargo netting and a few dark green ratchet straps. 

_Exciting._

_At least they would have decent meals for the night instead of porridge again._

One by one, the straps holding their newly arrived gear were unlatched and pitched to the side. A metallic note rang out as one of the clips caught and swung, banging against the hull of the fuselage without harm. Someone was already beginning the process of unloading the gear, standing within the aircraft and moving with practiced grace.

Reed quirked a brow as she approached.

It seems the mission dealing with the Mirelurk Queen had reached its conclusion, for the figure standing within the aircraft was familiar. Large power-armored grip made short work of undoing the tightly ratcheted supply straps, shifting both light and heavy cargo with ease. It was apparent that the larger crates would require a power armor-assisted hand to transport inside. Yet, a few of the smaller boxes appeared light enough for bare-handed transport.

The day would surely be a morale booster.

One of the lighter crates slid to the edge, and the Knight dutifully stepped up to hoist the box without question.  

“Welcome back, Paladin,” Reed said respectfully. A private smile was allowed to overtake her features for just a moment.

It must have been contagious, for his expression briefly twitched into a similar one. In half a breath, it was once more reserved. No doubt the others were approaching from within the compound.

“It’s good to be back,” he responded in a standard tone, truly meaning it.

Fatigues still remained tied about her waist, top boasting only a sweat-clinging tank top as the cargo box was hoisted off the carrier. Flesh bore clear signs of the dirty work she had been up to that afternoon. As Reed carried the awkwardly sized container away without hesitation, Danse found himself watching her departing form perhaps a moment longer than what was professional.

* * *

The vertibird was unloaded without much difficulty. Cargo put away in its corresponding place. Empty crates were loaded once more back on the aircraft, ready to drop off at the airport to be reused. Requested provisions were handed out to each respective person. Rhys received a replacement stock for his rifle, as his had cracked in a skirmish a few weeks back. Haylen received new writing instruments and a handful of new reports from Quinlan to decode. Reed had requested a new fusion cell for her power armor, as well as ammunition and a few extra pairs of socks. Rations, food and general supplies were also sent over. It was a welcome to have a bit of variety for a change.

The rest of the team was eating together, welcoming their temporary Lancer pilot that would be staying until morning. There had been no sense to make a double-trip for both cargo drop-off and personnel pick-up, given the tentative schedule.

The former Vault dweller settled into the familiar task of gearing up for first shift of the night. New fusion core ran beautifully within the confines of the T-60, humming in a way that was barely audible as it glowed. Weapons were standard, same as every night; rifle and pistol. Helmet was in place, as a radstorm was coming in that looked heavy with rain. As the female Knight made her way to the front entrance of the station, Danse had called up from his meal with an authoritative tone.

"Knight, we have a follow-up mission that you will be joining me on. Perimeters will be made available at the Prydwen shortly. Multi-team effort, like this last one. Tough, but I recommended you come along as well. Make ready. We may be departing as early as the morning.”

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I'll make sure I'm adequately provisioned."

He nodded, then turned attention back to his discussion with Rhys. Paladin Danse was filling them all in on the details of the recent excursion, and of the rotation of teams being announced for the next quarter. Their team was going to be split and reassigned accordingly. Given the secure status of the Cambridge Police Station, they would be moving up a few of the Initiates to give them a chance out on the field. The more experienced soldiers were to be assigned to outposts requiring additional manpower, extra hands and skills for dealing with higher concentrations of hostiles in more dangerous zones.

Reed continued on her way, missing the rest of the conversation upon exiting the building.

* * *

Knight Rhys was next on watch that night. They passed each another without a word in the half-light. Nothing had been out of the ordinary to report. Thus, neither spoke, both content with the unspoken agreement.

A few more of the bulbs had burned out over recent weeks, casting strange shadows upon the floor and walls. There would be need to request replacements next supply drop if anymore stopped working. Seeing as the team was about to be transferred, that responsibility would fall to the next team of Initiates. There were still a few shining, mostly to the far side of the entrance. It would be enough to make do in the meantime.

Reed stripped free of her power armor, no longer requiring it once safely inside. Hand reached up, pulling hair free from the braid that kept it in some manner of control while donning the complex helmet. It had gotten longer, left untrimmed for the past several months. So long as it was still manageable, there’d be no need to chop it all off just yet. The edges brushed just shy of her shoulder blades.

A distant rumble announced the arrival of the small radstorm. There were some winds, but not violently so. Rain began to drum rhythmically against the roof of the building in an almost melodic tone. No pounding droplets. No howling wind. It was a surprisingly calm storm, despite the flares of yellow and green that came before the thunder.

Reed huffed a note of laughter. The majority of her gear was still dry, having missed the downpour by mere minutes. No doubt the male Knight would be in a foul mood after his watch. Timing was everything, it seemed.

Besides that, the police station was quiet. White noise of the world outside somehow made it more peaceful. Pure silence had a way of ringing in the ears and making a person’s breath seem louder than possible when trying to rest. The storms had a strangely calming effect, so long as the Geiger counter alarms were silenced.

Fatigues were exchanged for civilian-styled clothing for the night. More comfortable. Less buckles. There would be time enough to sleep in full gear as mission operatives continued on the wasteland. In the safety and sanctuary of the four walls, roof and protective perimeter, there was much to be said for the small enjoyments in life. A chance to relax fully. A chance to wear dry clothes. A chance to enjoy a meal rather than swallow it in a rush.

T-60 stood nearby, vacant but ever-ready, should there be a call to arms.

Despite the hour, there was little desire to find sleep. Mind was awake with all manner of thoughts about tomorrow.

* * *

A few hours rest had been sufficient enough to garner some semblance of rest. It usually was. Even after a long journey, a trying week and a lengthy battle, it was difficult to get out of old routines that had been conditioned and forged for so long. Even though there was no need to take over the watch, the body had no way of knowing this and woke out of habit.

Outside, a radstorm boomed in low rumbling notes.

Russet colored eyes stared at the dark ceiling, lost in thought. Mind began to unravel scenarios distantly, passing the time with methodical assessment of post-and-future related operatives. Their next assignment would be an unusual task. Elder Maxson had already relinquished a few of the details while meeting with the Paladin in confidence to formulate a plan. Super mutants were never an idle threat, and one group in particular had garnered enough attention to require action. Thus, their next mission would commence shortly.

He drew a slow breath, already anticipating all the details still left to be done before they’d be ready for the assault.

In the dark, a different shadow stirred.

Surrounded by walls as they were, muscles only flinched a marginal degree out of defensive reflex. Hand instinctively reached for a sidearm, but moved only an inch before coming to stillness. Even with senses adjusted to the lack of light, the world was cast in greys and blacks. Able to see some details at the correct angles, but most appeared obscure and blurry without an edge.

“… Reed?” he tried to whisper, but the sound was interrupted by the familiar silhouette shaking their head cautiously with a soft breath of a shush. It tilted with indication instead. Suddenly, the figure slipped away, bare footsteps silent against the aged main floor.

Calloused hand drew back the warmth of his bedroll and blankets, stepping into the darkness and quiet of the lobby with piqued interest.

* * *

The door closed behind them with slow and deliberate care. Delicate hands held the latch in hopes that it would not click loudly when sunk into the mirroring notch that secured it. It sighed into place without more than a whisper of brass against brass. Hand released the lever, breathing with relief as it remained soundless.

On the main floor, it was easy to hear others. Sound carried with moderate clarity even between the broken walls. The second floor may have been less sound-carrying, but it would groan with the shifting weight of anyone who set foot on those old floorboards.

However, the basement was a world away. Entrance to the lower portion of the facility was at the furthest reach of the police station. Walls were thick, being below ground. Even the door was heavy, insulated and well secured. It would be the best location to communicate without fear of waking any sleeping teammates. One might even have been able to speak in a normal voice had it not been such a cautious endeavour.

Fingers worked the familiar dials in complete darkness for only a few moments. Soon, a soft green glow illuminated the immediate area. Strange shadows were cast as a result of the diffused light from the Pip-Boy. Enough to see by, enough to identify shapes, but likely too low to have read by. It was an ambient light from the screen, but, it would do.

“Clever,” he remarked, voice still lowered to a hush as he evaluated their current location. A sidelong glance was made, “Still risky.”

“If it was too much of a risk, you wouldn’t have followed,” she countered, voice similarly whispering to match his own.

_Point made._

“How was the mission?”

Paladin Danse could feel the walls he held with others begin to lower and soften in the confidence of his companion. Authoritative tone and mannerisms began to slip. A chance to speak without being required to fill the role of a senior officer or give instructions. Being surrounded by others, such as when aboard the Prydwen, leading multi-team missions or even in the main room of the police station, could be tiring to fill a commanding role endlessly. Decisions. Direction. Delegation. It was a heavy responsibility, and one that he shouldered without question.

The weight of it all slipped away for in the moment, and the officer drew a freeing breath.

“Exhausting,” he admitted honestly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t hav—“

“No no,” Danse cut her off. “I’m glad you did. I wasn’t getting much sleep anyway.”

 She nodded understandingly.

“Did it go well?”

Each spoke in a low voice that was only a hair’s breath above a whisper. Caution, least they be found out.

“As well as could be expected,” he replied with an even tone. “A few injuries. No casualties.”

“I’m glad it didn’t end badly,” she breathed, having been slightly worried after Jess mentioned the part about ‘armor-melting acid’.

“And here?” he decided to change the subject, knowing how well Rhys and Reed often did together when without supervision.

“As well as could be expected,” she copied his words, casting a glance that hinted at the continuing animosity between the two Knights. It was not for lack of trying. Reed was unable to make amends with the stubborn man despite numerous attempts and approaches. “On a good note, however, I received word from Doctor Amari.”

Surprise registered on the masculine features that regarded her, painted in odd green-tinted highlights and shadows.

“And?”

“There was a lot of information on that chip,” she said, arms folding unconsciously as if to banish a chill. “Kellogg’s last contract was tracking down a rogue scientist from the Institute that had managed to escape. A guy named Virgil. Bryan Virgil. They suspect he tried to lose them by hiding out in Glowing Sea, which is why Kellogg never found him.”

_Damn..._

“And likely never will. Nobody can survive the Glowing Sea without some serious equipment, and even then, not forever,” Danse remarked with a serious voice, the news not entirely well-received. Brown eyes regarded his recruit, putting his hand upon her arm as her eyes grew distant. “You okay?”

Gladen put her hand on top of his, nodding. When the muscular arm did not retreat, however, the smaller woman took the opportunity as an invitation and crossed the distance between. His arm wrapped around her form easily, bringing with it a measure of much-needed reassurance.

“Always one step forward, one step back,” she murmured.

“It was a solid lead,” he stated approvingly. “We will report the findings to Elder Maxson and Quinlan. Perhaps there is yet something we don’t see that can be a benefit from what we have learned. We will do a full report and see if anything comes of it from the Scribes. Maybe there is something we missed, or intel that will give us our next step.”

It was a slim chance. Given the gravity of the situation, there would be no stone left unturned when it came to matters of finding leads to the Institute. Any news would be reported. Any intel passed along. Those that worked the archives were often masters at putting together pieces of even the most obscure of puzzles.

“We leave tomorrow?” she clarified, having missed most of the conversation earlier.

Danse offered a nod, “Back to the Prydwen.”

“That’s a shame,” she jested, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

“I’m sorry we can’t stay here longer, even just a few more days. I did my best to facilitate a prompt return, but the debriefing, reports and additional meetings took what spare time was available,” he confessed, the feeling mutual.

“Any idea how long the next mission will take to complete?”

_He had a portion of the intel, after all._

“A week. Maybe longer, depending on the first assault,” he glanced up as if retrieving thoughts from a memory attic. “If we can take the fort by air, it will be easier and conclude ahead of schedule. If it requires boots on the ground, it will be a much lengthier, and dangerous, process to accomplish.”

“After that, we are being reassigned?”

“Affirmative,” he said, voice hardening a degree at the answer.

There was no concrete list of candidates to be moved about, but those with potential would often be moved to quadrants requiring field experience. Cambridge had been reclassified as an established outpost, suitable for a few Knights and Initiates. No doubt Danse’s team would move towards the downtown core to address hostile threats there. It was unsaid whether it would remain intact or be split between divisions.

A silence settled over the basement of the police station, peppered only by the rumbling of the storm overhead.

“Rhys will be on watch for the next two hours or so,” she offered the information in a continued half-whisper, mannerism almost casual _. If they were to be leaving tomorrow for an undetermined amount of time…_ “I don’t imagine anyone has noticed we are missing at this hour.”

Danse had a thoughtful look, then shook his head in the negative. “We’ve pressed our luck as it is, Reed. It would take only a moment for them to discover we are both—“

His words were lost to the set of lips that found his, the closeness of her form having to lift slightly to accomplish such a feat with their difference in stature. In the chill of the air of the unheated basement, the warmth of another body was easily felt even with clothes between them. By the dim light of the Pip-Boy screen, there were only hints at the edges of either body. Eyes had adjusted to the somewhat dark, creating an interesting ability to both see-and-not-see exact details, save for shifting green highlights in the ambiance.

The kiss was not a fleeting nature like those they had shared before. This seemed more of an urgent motion. It broke away after a moment, although the female recruit did not stray. He realized his breath was quickened.

_Oh..._

 

“Maybe we have a little time…” he agreed, voice low.

It was his lips that then sought hers with interest, finding them in the dark and embracing them wantonly. She returned the kiss just as deeply, smaller hands coming to twine over each of his broad shoulders. One raked up with fingertips tracing along the back of his neck, coming to nestle into the mess that his thick hair. There was not a breath of space between their twin forms as each basked in the warmth of one another.

Butterflies danced within the Paladin’s stomach, stemming eagerness with mindful restraint.

_Was this truly what she was implying? Was he being too forward in his assumptions?_

Yet, she clung to him just as breathlessly. Just as close.

It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. Duty had taken that place long ago, leaving little time for lovers. Young recruits were often keen, as young adults often were, but assignments and missions soon crafted a life that left little time for relationships or fraternization. Hands had not forgotten, however. Pulse had not forgotten either. Flesh was alight with longing as his body fondly remembered in the dark.

A nearby concrete wall offered support as his back came to lean heavily against it. They moved together easily, neither straying far from one another’s touch. Even though the surface was much cooler than the air itself, giving rise to a dotting of gooseflesh along the skin, thoughts scarcely acknowledged the shiver.

There was a note of eagerness in each of their subtle actions. A dance between a man and a woman that was made through touch and exploration. At first, perhaps, it had been fleeting. Cautious. Mindful. Yet, neither moved to redirect or stop one another. Slowly, the explorations became bolder until both were able to hear one another’s quickened breaths.

It was she that moved to unzip the front of his fatigues, an action that was both forward and welcomed. The gesture had held a hint of hesitation at first, deep green orbs daring to lift upwards as if silently asking permission to proceed. There had been no move to stop her hand, and thus, the daring recruit continued. Fingertips traced along the curves of his muscles revealed there, the touch lingering for half a breath at the handful of scars that dotted the surface. Yet, the zipper was released of its course just shy of his navel, as if leaving curiosities to the imagination for now.

Large hands circled and examined her flesh in the dark, exploring without hurry or greed. The lithe body of the woman in his arms arched and flexed at the subtle embraces, being all the encouragement needed to continue. Curious fingers lifted at the seam about her waist, pausing so. Heart raced. Slowly, the touch continued as he reached beneath the warmth of her garment.

Calloused fingertips trailed softly along the smooth skin, first along the curve of a hip, then to the small of an arching back. Ribs were beneath his hand next, lingering so. He could feel as she leaned towards the touch, a silent communication as if beckoning him to continue. It did, and with it, the form of a bare breast settled into his palm without reprimand. He felt it gently, giving reality to what his mind had imagined in the solitude of lonely wakeful nights. A soft sigh met his ears, a gentle vocal from his companion. It caused flesh to tingle anew.

Paladin Danse swallowed heavily, breaths coming in a quickened state. Lips found the curve of a soft neck in the green light, kissing heatedly. It was he that twitched next, feeling the gentle fingertips upon the zipper of his fatigues once more. No move was made to stop the advancement. Twin sides of the fabric parted easily with the passing of the metallic tab, loosening the final portion of what he wore. A soft drawing of air was brought from busy lips as the palm of her hand passed fleetingly over his hardened state. It was still restrained behind a single layer of briefs, but the BOS fatigues had shifted and lowered, allowing such a member to be not-so -tightly contained.

Reed dared a glance down in the half-light.

It seemed insects were not the only things larger than average in size out on the Commonwealth.

Careful touches teased gently through the thin veil of cloth that stood between them, never lingering long. It rewarded her with all manner of desirable responses. Muscles twitched unintentionally. So, too, did his member, pulsing with want. A sigh from his lips, cut off as he kissed her neck more urgently. A hand upon her hip even beckoned her closer, seemingly more out of instincts than conscious thought.

“I want you,” she whispered breathlessly, lips brushing against his earlobe as she spoke.

“I’m yours,” he said, eyes half-closing as she stroked him gently, still not yet flesh against flesh.

“Sit...”

It was an order, given and spoken without question. He was obedient of the word, shrugging free the arms of his fatigues and lowering the fabric more comfortably below his hips. Practiced hand drew forth his hardened length, no longer able to keep it restrained and at such discomfort. It stood proudly in the chilled air, thickened and at its max. Even at his own touch it was elated. Large hand curled about it reflexively, giving it a few subtle strokes as he watched the beauty above him.

Gladen threw aside her shirt, dropping it with disinterest to the floor. Lower garments soon followed, first with the untying of a drawstring and second as fingers hooked and sent the remaining hem down inch-by-inch. Gravity took the rest of the course, and soon the female form that stood in the chilled air was completely ungarbed.

“Is this what you…” he tried to speak, but the words were lost as settled astride him, cutting off the inquiry with a passionate kiss.

A soft breath was drawn from the commanding officer as a feminine hand took the place of his own. Delicate fingers wrapped carefully, paying the sensitive length respectful attention just as he had been doing. Legs involuntarily twitched at the intimate touch. Only now the closeness of her form was bare flesh against bare flesh. Firm legs straddled his, lingering there as both sets of hips drew dangerously close to one another. Close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough that he could feel her aroused and wanting.

“… like this?” she whispered with parting lips, voice thick with desire.

The female Knight began to take him then. Slowly. Mindfully. It was unhurried and with care. Danse had been unable to formulate a response, lips pressing closed as he stifled a breathy note from deep within ones throat. Flesh against flesh began to yield, despite boasting an impressive girth. As his length began to fill her, Reed leaned towards him, moaning against the nape of his neck in a deep satisfaction.

Weathered hands were upon her hips and thighs instinctively, holding there. Deep gold-flecked gaze was momentarily lost in the dim light as he drew a settling breath. A hitch in that inhalation as the woman above him rose slightly, only to lower further. A moan escaped them both at the motion. Again, his female recruit rose and lowered until their hips came to meet. The depth of her wrapped firmly about his entirety. He filled what felt like every portion of her female form.

Twin hands came to rest upon the chest of her commanding officer as she took control of the moment. Each moved as one as Reed took him slowly at first, rhythms coming to match. Felt him deep within her. Hair slipped over her shoulders as head lowered slightly, biting off a lustful sound. Muscles flexed in time with her own, encouraging each stroke. Desire flared anew, feeling hips rising beneath to meet hers seemingly of their own volition.

Thunder rumbled loudly at the walls, hiding the sounds of their lovemaking.

Eyes shamelessly drank in the flexing form as it danced above him. Breasts caught each movement, each pitch and sway. Nothing of his companion’s flesh was covered, save for hidden by shadow and shifting light. Each curve revealed. Each intimate and hidden part. A beautiful form, one that could draw the eyes indefinitely.

_Oh god…_

_How he’d imagined moments like this._

So welcoming was her encouragement. Each of his explorative touches yielded a sigh or sound from his partner. A dance partner like few he could remember. Mind failed to retrieve any moment where the blood in his veins had been so incredibly heated. So tight had she been upon their joining that he’d wondered if they might ever fit together. Yet, take him she had. Fill her he did. Each muscle within her intimacy gripped at him, so tight was the space they shared.

Eyes closed against it all, a stilling breath as the beauty of his recruit once more leaned against him.

It was there, at the edge of his mind.

 _Not yet,_ he willed.

The sounds from her throat were not loud nor boastful. They were subdued, quiet, purposefully for his ears alone. Neck lowered as he tasked his lips to the breasts that had swayed above him so tauntingly. A hand upon her back, beckoning to bring them ever closer. The flesh was soft and full.  A gasp gave tingle to the senses, having found the sensitive nipples upon those smooth orbs and paying them mindful attention.  

“… yes, sir…. Just like that…” she breathed, note hitching in her voice.

He nearly uttered a sound himself, the passionate words spoken.

_Was she approaching her peak?_

Each tone of her breathless sighs were beginning to take on an unusual pitch when compared to their beginning. It was unfair to watch such a fair creature twist and chase their pleasure without encouragement. A hand reached between them, and satisfaction came with it as he watched her head tilt. Teeth were but a glimpse as they bit at a lip, stifling a throaty moan as his fingertips dutifully found her sensitivity in the chaos, circling it and stroking it along with her own rhythm. Dark eyes closed but for a moment, counting in his head as he attempted to maintain fortitude.  

Danse felt it intimately as she began to climax, satisfaction as she chased her pleasure with him deep inside. His own head dropped with chin to chest, upper arms carved and flexing with each thrust as their bodies met in growing rhythm and intensity. He could feel the press of her fingertips against taught skin, taking care not to tear with the tips of said nails.

“…. uhh…. yes, Reed….” he uttered deeply, his own voice seeming foreign with its tone.

It began as a pulsing. A tensing of muscles around the length of his member. It was as if her intimacy were stroking his, tightening with appreciation. The tone that fell from his companion’s lips was unlike any sound he had heard from prior. It bit off behind closed lips as in an attempt to stay hushed, rather than cry out as the entire body insisted.

_How he wished he could have heard it fully._

 

_Oh god..._

 

It was impossible to hold back any longer. His own climax began just as hers tapered. Muscles moved of their own accord, thrusting deeply as he chased the wave of his own pleasure. Hands grasped feminine hips as he rose to meet her. A grunt spilled from a tight throat as it engulfed him. He heard his companion utter a passionate sound, fueling the moment further. It raced through the Paladin’s system as a whole, bringing with it an utter sense of euphoria. It lasted an eternity, and ended entirely too soon. After several moments, he was spent, breathing heavily.

The surface of both parties glistened with sweat, and a bit of other matters. Each clung to one another, unwilling to let go of the moment as they relished the blissful afterglow. Breaths came in ragged draws. He rested his forehead against the cusp where her shoulder met her neck. He could feel the tips of her fingertips, now nestled in the nape of his neck with a soft and careful grip.

It took several moments before either moved, the air seeming to cool once more around them.

“Should...” she whispered, stealing a moment to kiss the warm flesh of his neck, “... should we go back?”

“... Not yet,” he requested quietly, still holding close. Lips could still taste the salt of her skin. Callused fingertips trailed up the sensitive skin of her spine, eliciting a delightful hitch of his recruit’s breath. “Maybe... a little while longer.”


	14. Outside the Vault: Day 178

“No,” Paladin Danse said firmly, his measured gaze holding the attention of his recruit as she sat opposite him at the table.

Reed continued to try and match his assertive look as best she could with one of her own. However, the senior officer had dealt with many a new recruit in his years with the Brotherhood and would not yield so easily on the topic. He almost mockingly sipped his coffee without breaking eye contact. The faintest of huffs escaped the Knight as she backed down, settling once more into their breakfast.

_Was that a hint of a smirk hiding behind his mug?_

Still, he refused to tell her his first name.

“Maybe… I just like it when you call me ‘sir’,” he said nonchalantly, too quiet for anyone else to hear over the din of the mess hall.

More soldiers roused and trickled into the common area of the mighty airship. As the number of bodies grew in the immediate area, so, too, did the volume of the general white-noise that accompanied idle chit-chat. Metal trays landed on tables. Cups clanked. Laughter and banter broke out occasionally. General rumblings of people talking in casual conversation.

Life at the airport had been buzzing with activity as of late. Not long ago, skilled and experienced soldiers had been called and stationed there prior to their assault against the Mirelurk Queen. Now, it was a new round of soldiers for the next mission operative. A joint-team effort to address a local and highly concentrated Super mutant threat. Many of those that had faced off against the massive crustacean remained behind, being called up yet again for the next assault. It was not often that two giant creatures were found within such a short timeframe of one another, but, stranger things had happened. As a result, many from the first wave of Knights were still stationed below to be redeployed.  

Gladen was not alone in being aboard the Prydwen for the required power armor calibration. A few other Knights had passed through as well. Fledge. Rey. Pyke. Sivv. Several of the familiar faces she had met previously during the brief stay with the urban team. Their gear was easy to identify amongst the masses, being decked out and customized with unique emblems, embellishments and even the odd bit of scrap. Not much unlike the ‘cool kids’ at school who insisted on matching outfits or traits that set them apart from the rest.  

Paladin Danse and Knight Reed had completed the rounds of upgrading her T-60 system the night before. Finishing that, they had also reviewed and finalized the material requisition forms requested by Proctor Teagan with relation to mission-specific supplies. Come morning, the female Knight was given leave to join the rest of the ranks down at the airport barracks below.

They’d kept matters about the mission for the most part, save for a few daring gestures or remarks in the privacy of the power armor bays. However, with the press of new arrivals and the ever-rotating shifts coming and going, much of it was subtle and slight. A smile. A lingering stare. Once, they had both reached for the same wrench, and he had squeezed her hand purposefully.

“I’d best be getting back,” the senior officer admitted, regarding the empty coffee mug as if surprised it was already finished. It was set on the meal tray next to an empty plate. “You’re aware of where you will be staying while we’re posted here?”

“Yes, sir,” Reed said, tilting her mug and draining it just the same. Cold coffee was best left unsavored. “I’ll be down below at the airport, awaiting the team assignments. I’ll be posted with the other Knights until then; on-call.”

It was the closest thing to a ‘leave’ as the Brotherhood allowed. Most soldiers would get a reprieve from regular duties, but all of those that worked beneath the BOS banner were considered to be on-call when stationed. Even on days that possessed no mission details, the chance of being brought to action still remained. The world was an unpredictable place.

“We meet with Elder Maxson today to determine the teams and how best to approach this issue tactically,” Danse clarified, face a stony expression. Focused gaze found hers, speaking nothing but business in that moment. “We will brief you all when it has been decided.”

Gladen gave a single nod, “Yes, sir.”

“I will see you then,” he offered as a parting remark, picking up the empty meal tray and taking leave.  

No pleasantries. No lingering expressions. No sweet words.

A lot was on the Paladin’s mind.

Musing with a few thoughts, Reed absentmindedly went take a sip of her coffee and found it to be dry. A twitch crossed those features with fleeting disappointment, remembering she’d finished it just a moment ago.


	15. Outside the Vault: Day 180

“Fucker’s got a horseshoe up his ass,” Millerson remarked, leaning back in a questionably rusted lawn chair as he regarded the cards with mild annoyance and a feigned disbelief.

“Anything to win, my friend,” Knight Fledge remarked with a wink, massive hands drawing the pool to his side of the table with a grin of victory. The pile in front of him was growing with each passing round.

“Man’s got commitment, if that’s the case,” Pyke said with a note of admiration, pulling forth the cigarette that had been stashed behind an ear and lighting it with a pluck of a match. He took a drag, then shook messy blonde hair away from his face. “Remind me not to shake your hand anymore, though. No offense.”

Gladen scooped the various cards off the metallic surface, gathering the double-deck back together before giving them a deft overhand and riffle shuffle. It wasn’t her first rodeo when it came to betting with the Knights. The cards snapped back into order with a quick cascade, tapping them on the highway sign that served as their make-shift table for true-square and settling back into the role of dealer. Few could shuffle as fast as Reed, given her natural dexterity and lack of broken knuckles over the years.

A strange grating sound cut the air as another chair was dragged over, this time by an older figure.

“Smith, you comin’ to play?” Pyke asked, hand catching as the cards were sent with a flick to each person face-down. “Red, play him in. Heck, Smith, I’ll even pay for your first hand.”

“Been a while since I’ve cleaned you young bloods out,” Knight Smith settled in. A veteran soldier, and a good one at that. The man was often assigned to the more difficult tasks, and had been stationed at the airport ever since the Mirelurk Queen incident.

“Fledge, count your caps goodbye,” Miller said with a flare of drama and a waving hand.

It had been an interesting handful of days leading up until then. Provisions had been organized, stashed and refilled if need be. A handful of green canvas tents offered stationing at the airport below. A temporary home for the wayward soldiers as they waited for the pending assault. Most were for bunking, with the largest serving as the mess hall. Storage boxes had been made available for those being reassigned, as they had brought with them all of their personal belongings from their former outposts.

Reed and Fledge were of that designation.

Passing the time was a strange concept. Rounds at the airport were already assigned for the soldiers stationed there. Reed and the others were awaiting the call to arms for the push to Fort Strong. Thus, they were not on duty. A few tasks were still routinely completed, such as assisting with meals, moving boxes or running quick errands between the Prydwen and the airport base. For the most part, however, it was one of the very few occasions the Knights had any leisure time.

“Got anymore of that tarberry brandy, Red?” Pyke spoke around the cigarette that danced on his lips.

“Nah,” she said, giving a single shake of her head. “You boys finished that off the other night.”

It was not the first time they’d gathered up to play cards recently. It was, however, the first time they’d taken to it in the daylight. An increasing sense of a looming deadline was fast approaching, and the Knights were all suited up in the standard issue BOS orange and cream power armor coveralls. The past few nights had been more casual, but after their last briefing and team assignment, most had decided to stay in their fatigues. There was still time to pass, however, and thus the card playing had resumed once more.

“Besides, I’d get in shit if we got called in and they found out I liquored you all up,” Gladen added as an afterthought, regarding her own hand and considering how best to play it. A raised eyebrow glanced at a certain Knight from over her hand. “Besides, I’m in no hurry to see Sivv’s ass again anytime soon.”

Pyke snorted a laugh, puffing smoke comically as he did so.

Smith, who had not been there at the time, turned a questionable gaze towards the resident almost-albino. “Can’t hold your liquor or what, son?”

“Yeah, it was a full moon that night,” Jax added, the other female Knight recalling the event with a shudder.

“You guys put that bet on the table. You’re just mad I had the balls to do it,” the white-blonde man named Sivv grinned broadly.

“Half the camp saw those too,” Rey added, the most quiet of the troupe. While the smaller man was an appointed Knight with a skill for the long-shot, he was less boisterous than most and could have even passed for a Scribe with the amount of reports he read in his spare time. “I’m surprised you didn’t get written up for it.”

“I’m surprised too, honestly,” Sivv responded with genuine sincerity.  

“Streaking isn’t really against any rules, I suppose,” Reed mused, moving a few cards.

“Yeah, but strapping himself with chemlights, pretending to be a glowing ghoul and frightening the newbies on night watch probably is,” Fledge remarked.

Sivv laughed a single hard note.

“Should have seen the look on their faces!” he reflected.

It was a new sensation to feel at ease. To be able to burn off steam, to socialize in a relaxed fashion, to even partake of a few items of contraband without being written up or reprimanded. Nothing hard, nothing crazy, but enough to break the tension and give the mind a much-deserved break.

“So, Smith,” Pyke said, tossing a few caps onto the metal table. Twin fingers plucked the cigarette away, holding the smoking tobacco with care. “Think we’ll be heading out tomorrow?”

There was no question that Knight Smith held rank and authority above the Knights gathered to play cards. Old, worn, crafted from many battles and skirmishes over the years. No one knew quite how old Smith was, save for the fact that most knew him by reputation. A man of few words on most instances, especially out in the field.

The veteran rubbed at his silver goatee in thought, regarding his card hand before also adding his own caps to the growing pot. A sharp glance was offered to Fledge, as if goading the other man to dare match.

“Most likely,” Smith said in an unhurried way.

“You excited?” Sivv elbowed Reed.

Their last mission together had been taking the tower in the downtown core. It had been when she was stationed with Pyke’s urban team, when Danse had been called back to the Prydwen for a time. While she was a Knight, she was still considered a newer member of the team. Still learning, still getting used to operating in the different environments or groups. Yet, they’d welcomed her easily. Pyke, charismatic to a fault. Millerson, the tank of the group with a natural gift for demolition. Rey, methodical and thorough, very much by-the-book. Sivv, a touch wild, but would take a bullet for anyone he cared about without question.

“I suppose so,” Gladen answered after a moment. There was truth to that; she was excited. Yet, a touch nervous as well. Features twisted slightly. “I hear we’ll be some of the first teams in.”

“Yeah,” Millerson confirmed. “Air support, eliminate threats from above. Take out the behemoth. Move to the ground, and clean the place out.”

“Seems fairly straightforward,” Rey added, having casually analyzed some of the intel that had been reported back of the peninsula. “The ruins will make it challenging, but that’s why they opted for more troops. More firepower means a faster acquisition, and less risk overall. It’s been difficult to get a hard-count of the hostiles there, though, so not quite sure about their numbers.”

“They’re just greenskins,” Pyke added, dropping the butt of his cigarette and snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. “It’ll be old hat by now.”

“Old hat for you guys, maybe,” Gladen said, throwing down her hand.

Each person did the same in turn, looking to see who it was that would take the pot this time.

“You’ll be fine,” Smith said, face a mask of calm. “We look after our own.”

Carefully, the seasoned veteran of the group laid his own cards down. It revealed with it a strong hand, the likes of which none could even come close to beating.

“A straight flush first hand? Fuck _me_ ,” Millerson said, adding a whistle.

“Like I said,” Smith turned slowly to look at the outspoken soldier, “you kids were overdue for some humblin’.”

Battle-scarred hands reached out and claimed the pot with a knowing smirk.


	16. Outside the Vault: Day 181

**Beep.**

**Beep.**

**Beep.**

 

 

The noise was faint at first.

 

 

 

**Beep.**

 

 

 

Slowly, it began to sound clearer, closer and more defined.

 

**Beep.**

 

The sharp note began to take on an irritating edge it grew in intensity and clarity.

 

**Beep.**

 

A light came with it. It was rhythmically flashing orange in time with the sound. On and off slowly in the corner of his vision it pulsed.

 

**Beep.**

 

_What were those? Numbers?_

**Beep.**

_Data._

It was relaying data.

_It was an alert._

**Beep.**

‘System Calibration advised’, it flashed.

**Beep.**

‘Output at 62%’.

**Beep.**

'Structural integrity compromised.'

**Beep.**

‘Recalibration of systems advised.'

**Beep.**

Struggling vision was blurry and made it difficult to focus. Paladin Danse attempted to survey the scene as he made note of the HUD updates within his helm. Nothing was making any sense.

_Where was he?_

Both ears were ringing, making things seem as if they were further away than usual. A drumming headache sat between his eyes and radiated out to each temple, flaring angrily at any tilt or head movement that occurred. The earth was beneath him, both supporting and confusing. Grit and dirt made up the entire immediate area like some sort of beach or sandy pit. One hand flexed, then the other. Fingers seemed to be operating sufficiently and without pain or difficulty. Arms were then tested next, appearing to function easily and without disagreement. They struggled soon after as an effort was made to rise from the face-down position, pushing against the uneven ground in an attempt to get up.

It didn’t work.

He pushed again, harder this time, but the result was still the same.

_He was stuck?_

Disoriented, the Paladin was hard-pressed to angle his body in such a way as to fully assess what was going on. Efforts to move beyond his current position were met with halting resistance. Each arm could still move independently of another. Helmet swiveled and pitched with ease. HUD was continuing to display alerts and reports about current operational percentiles. It was the body and lower extremities that refused to yield or lift from the earth. Servos whirled to life with each effort, but bogged as if met with a mighty counter-force when pressed.

_It couldn’t be a fusion core problem, then._

 

_What the hell?_

 

Debris and pieces of metal could be seen scattered around the immediate area. A twisting glimpse brought with it the answer to the troubling situation. Why it was he could move arms and torso, but little else. Paladin Danse was pinned under the main console of a crashed vertibird, legs sunk beneath its cold exterior into the sand below. Salty water lapped gently around both the destruction and the man tangled up with it.

_Maybe, if he could get one leg free, it would be enough._

Muscles began to twist, to turn, to push, to pull. In the wet sand, it was of little use. Any force applied in an attempt to push away from the ground or the aircraft only resulted in arms and limbs sinking further into the swirling, sucking grains. Teeth clenched, grunting with more than a minor amount of frustration at the predicament. Head pounded in protest from the struggles. Vision still swam with the occasional shifting gaze. Patience had all but vanished within the veteran officer.

_If only he hand someone to help him out of this..._

A jolt of realization crashed into the forefront of all thoughts. All movements and attempts to get free halted.

_He did have people..._

It all came flashing back to him in the blink of an eye.

_The vertibird. The teams. Fort Strong. The mission._

They had been deployed to deal with Fort Strong as air support and eventual ground tactics. An entire crew. Lancer, Knights and Paladin. His team had been familiar and well-suited to the mission. Smith. Reed. Fledge. Other teams were on hand as well. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. The reserves. Other vertibirds waited at the Prydwen in case of trouble or if assistance was needed. Other soldiers. Back-up teams. They were all working together this day.

Reports had indicated the presence of multiple hostiles and one Behemoth at the location. The plan had been to clear the area from the air, followed by deployment of troops to the ground after the most formidable of the resident hostiles had been downed. Fly-by and airborne assessments over the past few weeks had given a reasonable expectation of resistance. Counts of the hostile units had been consistent. Nothing that couldn’t be handled by rifles, T-60s and battle-hardened veterans en mass.

Intel, it seems, had been wrong.

A boulder the size of a car had collided against their vertibird with a resounding crash upon arrival and engagement with the Super mutants. The sound it had made was unforgettable. It pitched the vertibird hard to the side, sending equipment screaming with warnings and brought alarms blaring to life. Fortunately, their Lancer pilot was adept at handling the contraption and regained control almost instantaneously. A hard banking was made, throwing the throttle in order to retreat from striking distance.

While impressive, it hadn’t been fast enough.

A second surprise Behemoth had launched its own rustic missile shortly after the first. It was a piece of rock that had been ripped from the ruins below. Purely a hunk of brick and mortar, immovable by anything other than heavy equipment or giant beasts. Despite the dramatic attempt to flee, the second boulder crested up towards the aircraft with deadly accuracy. It knocked clear a set of their vertiblades with the sheering sound of screaming metal.

Alarms continued to blare with red lights flashed. The aircraft went into a deadly spin from which the Lancer pilot had been unable to recover. The centripetal force continued to build as the ground loomed ever-closer with each swirling pass. Within seconds, the world was but flashes of blue and brown as they continued in the catastrophic descent.

Danse had held firm to the side of the aircraft, powered grip refusing to let go as he rode the wreckage to its final destination. It had been instinctive more than conscious thought or decision. The idea of being thrown from the craft several hundred meters above the ground had been an unsavory concept. In the end, the force must have wrenched the consciousness from the officer, as he did not remember the collision itself.

It was apparent all around him, however. The debris, the scorch marks, the crackling fires that still sputtered from the leaking biofuel.

Eyes scanned with frantic intent. A creeping sense of dread mixed with the already pumping adrenaline. No forms could be seen that were familiar. Fortunately, no corpses either. No severed limbs. No blood. No humans. No mutants. Just ruins, beach and surf.

_Where were the others?_

“Fledge! Smith!” he called out, coughing. “Reed?”

Features pulled into a sharp wince as the feedback from his internal audio relay shrieked in protest. A mechanical fault was causing a harsh whining squeal whenever words were uttered with the intent to broadcast to all linked channels. Doubtful if the sounds relayed at all. If they did, it would have likely been received by the others as interrupted static. An armored hand reached up and struck the helmet a handful of times in hopes of remedying the dysfunction by direct and violent force. Fortunately, the protective headgear was not entirely soundproof, so Danse shouted once more for his comrades in hopes they were not far off and could hear him.

A male voice groaned nearby in response, but the location of the individual was difficult to pinpoint.

 

_Dammit!_

 

“Soldier, report!”

 

Nothing.

 

“Soldier!”

 

No response.

 

Paladin Danse struggled once more against the vertibird debris. It didn’t budge.

 

“Fuck!” he shouted.

* * *

A flashing indicator within the reinforced helmet was the first thing that Gladen’s waking eyes managed to perceive. It expressed a textual recommendation to check the system for possible impact damage and reset according to the displayed instructions. The little orange letters flicked on and off slowly in the corner of the HUD. The pulsing of each word seemed almost calm, the letters fading in and out slowly as if it were only a casual suggestion.

With a struggling groan, Knight Reed attempted to sit up and make heads-or-tails of the situation. Even though the movement was marginal, it was easy to feel the disoriented state of several delicate senses. Stomach twitched warningly as a creeping dizziness gnawed at the edges of her perception. A sense of vertigo was making it difficult to even determine which way was up, eyes feeling as if they were struggling to stay level.

 _What happened?_ she tried to think over the wooziness.

_The boulder. The vertibird. Fledge. Smith._

_Danse._

Violently, the woman sat up fully and was nearly sick in her helmet from the spinning world. A mindful pause was taken out of necessity, drawing deep and focused breaths until the spots in her vision stopped swirling. The world felt as if it were still tilting this way and that. Even putting hands on the ground to reassure herself that that was not the case did little to stem the sensation. It was as if the earth itself were a boat, rising and falling on stormy seas. Eyes, rather than head, slowly began to search.

Debris. Smoke. Fire.

Mental fortitude drawn upon in an attempt to focus, realizing that there was little time to sit and wait for the spins to stop on their own. Deep breaths continued as hands began to take physical inventory of both her person and weapons. Provisions were all slung and secured in their usual designations. No injury seemed apparent beyond being battered, bruised and a little disoriented. One grenade seemed to be missing from its housing, but that was a small matter in the grand scheme of things.

The Brotherhood Knight pushed up into a shaky stand, stumbling and catching hold of a nearby crumbling ruin for support. Eyes blinked rapidly, as if sheer will would be enough to still the pitching of the horizon. The sensation was starting to lessen with each passing moment, and would hopefully be a distant memory before too long. It would take some time to quell completely, but feet were able to make an ambling effort to hurry off. Each step was thrown in front of the other until the pace became a wavering jog. No Super mutants were on them yet, but that wouldn’t last long.

“Danse!” the female recruit called out, swallowing a brief notion of nausea. The spinning vertibird had done a number to her equilibrium. “Smith? Fledge?! Anyone?”

Water and sand had swallowed much of the peninsula, with ruins sprouting from both beach and sea like ancient tombstones. It was as if the former buildings had long ago begun slipping into the sea and continued that way ever since. No doubt the water itself had risen to meet it over the years. Regardless of how it had come to pass, the crumbling structures jutted from the waters as skeletal remains of their former glory. It was a bountiful cache of cover to be had, although most were half-walls and crumbling piles.

An armored figure moved between the sinking ruins as she passed, dragging themselves from the lapping surf on hands and knees with T-60 fully intact.

_Shit._

There was no hesitation as the woman turned to rush the foamy surf, bending down to aid in her teammates efforts to get free of the chilling waters. From the looks of it, he had fallen into the deeper shoals further out and had crawled to shore with some difficulty. While T-60s were water-tight by nature and design, able to stay submerged for surprising lengths of time, they were not capable of any semblance of swimming. The process to get to shore must have been a struggling task.

“Smith, you okay?” she pressed, successfully dragging the veteran up onto the drier bank. “Are you injured?”

“Gah,” he spat within his helmet with a grunt, words heard both by relay and by direct vocals. “Leg.”

A piece of rebar had pierced the weak joint behind the knee of the armor, bending at an odd angle and coming out where must have been the side of his kneecap. It wasn’t a large piece of metal, perhaps a foot and a half in length. Bent as it was, it seemed even shorter. One would surmise that the Knight had clipped the ruins during the descending fall from the vertibird, catching the pointed piece of structure at a vulnerable angle.

“Shit,” Reed uttered under her breath, cringing unintentionally.

_How the man was calm about such a thing was impressive._

It appeared that the damage was limited only to the one leg. Despite the injury, the veteran soldier proceeded to do a full inventory check of his person for weapons, just as Reed had done several moments before. Satisfied that the required gear was accounted for, an open hand reached up towards the female Knight in universal gesture.

“Help me up,” Smith requested firmly, voice a bit tighter than usual.

Gladen nearly hesitated for fear of jostling the injured man further, but thought better of arguing the point. Although they shared the same rank, they certainly did not share the same seniority. A firm grip was offered in turn, taking his hand and levering the injured teammate to his feet with ease. Smith held his injured leg at a bent angle with caution, levering it more using his hip than by trying to bend at the knee at all. No doubt the joint was in desperate need of repair. The idea of putting any semblance of weight on it currently was nauseating.

Instinctively, Reed ducked beneath his extended arm and shouldered the burden of his weight equally. No sense in having the man struggle to balance on his own, needlessly risking any sort of tumble or fall could do even more damage to the already troubled limb. Between the two of them, they made good time in crossing the last expanse of distance between them and the wreckage.

“Oh god!” cried the supportive Knight as the scene before them unfolded into sight.

Their commanding officer was but a torso jutting out from beneath the aircraft’s main hull. It immediately invoked a feeling of dread, fearing the worst. Biofuel continued to leak into the adjacent area, burning with a smoky haze and noticeable heat. Smith unhooked his arm from Reed, allowing the female to rush over to the fuselage for assistance.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” the Paladin stated loud enough to be heard without the relay, attempting to push from the awkward position. “Just stuck under the wreckage. I’m unhurt.”

Reed breathed a heavy sigh of relief at hearing the voice from within the T-60. Mind had reeled at the concept of what would have happened next if it had turned out that the form before her lay still and unmoving. A cold chill rippled down along the spine at the uncomfortable possibility. A lump rose unexpectedly in her throat.

Eyes took inventory of the scene. “We need to get you out, sir.”

Form immediately bent to the task, wrapping fingers around the edge of the outer panels and hoisting with an effort spurred on by duress and desperate need. What relief had been felt at finding Danse alive had immediately been replaced with urgency as the gravity of their precarious situation once more came to the forefront. Servos began to bog and internal systems gave a flash of warning. Operational systems were nearing maximum output range with the effort of trying to hoist the massive aircraft.

The debris barely shifted. Feet had sunk slightly into the sand with each flex.

“Dammit!” Reed grunted with futility, releasing the struggle. “Won’t budge. Give me your hands.”

Danse nodded. Another attempt was made, instead opting to try and pull the officer out from beneath the wreckage rather than fighting the weight of it all directly. Steel-gripped hand wrapped steel-gripped hand. The female Knight’s boots set against the earth once more, able to provide an additional anchor point as leverage against the restriction. Both worked together, needing no verbal instruction to coordinate their efforts. Slowly, the wedged T-60 moved a handful of inches, then a handful more, before coming to a dead stop. It had snagged on something and would move no further.

“Fuck!” the former Vault dweller spat, nearly stumbling on the uneven footing. Sweat had begun to bead on the creased brow within.

Overheard could be heard the whirling of twin vertibirds flying over the scene, highlighted by the occasional thrum of minigun fire engaging hostiles further inland. Each hovered and drifted over like protective bird-parents over a fallen young. Either they had not witnessed the altercation that had brought down Alpha team, or they thought themselves above the threat in both altitude and skill.

“Smith, tell them to get the hell out of here!” Danse said suddenly, watching as the aircraft positioned themselves dangerously low. "The Behemoths are still out there!"

The warning came too late.

Rock against metal, followed by a catastrophic bang, interrupted the words of the officer below. Metal sheered against stone, vertiblades wrenched from their home and breaking off at the assault that had caught an offside engine. The undamaged craft next to it banked hard and away, narrowly avoiding a collision with its brother.

Smoke immediately billowed out from various compartments within the wounded wing, trailing a morbid black plume as the aircraft pitched. The vertibird began to spin and bank, losing height at an alarming rate. It whistled as it dropped from the sky. Ground loomed. No doubt the Lancer pilot had done everything to avoid the inevitable, but there was no escaping the heart-wrenching trajectory. An explosion shook the area as the aircraft met the same fate as the former team. A flower of smoke and fire blossomed into the sky.

A strange silence settled over Alpha team, interrupted only by the crackling of oil fires and waves lapping at the ruined beach. In the distance had been a triumphant series of hoots and hollers from the hostile group that they had yet to directly engage. Their voices were closer than was comfortable. Reed paused in her struggles to free their commander, unsure of what the next several steps would be now that there was no cover-fire. Twin trails of black smoke poured into the sky from each crash site, like morbid beacons of fallen brothers.

_They would be overrun soon._

“Was that Bravo?” Smith dared to ask.

“Affirmative,” replied the Paladin, whose voice contained a dark note.

Neither team had made much of a dent in the local Super mutant populace. A few had been put down beneath the barrage of 8mm bullets from above, but there were still far more of the troublesome greenskins than there were humans currently upon the peninsula. On top of that fact was also the reality that neither team had successfully taken down either of the dual Behemoth threats. Any direct encounter henceforth would be met with exceptionally poor odds of survival.

“Dig in,” said Danse, the audio relay of his helmet crackling with a squeal. It was a firm order, spoken with a hard note of determination and grit. “Get ready. You and Smith move to better cover. Now.”

_Find cover? Where?_

The ruins were but vague walls of what had once been buildings, or at least structures. Concrete and brick, long ago tumbled and worn from wind and rain. Many possessed scarcely more than a single standing wall. Further inland were more suitable forms of cover, but the push to such a location would only bring them closer to the density of the Super mutant hordes.

The female Knight halted her continued attempts to move the vertibird debris, leaning back against the broken vehicle with an idle grip on the twisted metal as she took a moment to breathe. Heart thumped heavily against a protective sternum, mind trying to wrap around any options that might give them a chance to hold out. A distant thought crept in, wondering about the status of Pyke’s team. 

_Had they survived?_

A mental pause. Features drew tight.

_... Would they all survive?_

A pinned Paladin. A wounded Knight that couldn’t walk. A former Vault dweller. Fledge was missing. As was their Lancer pilot. It would not be much of a stand-off. Even a full ground team comprised of Knights in fully operational armor would be hard-pressed to face off against a Behemoth-backed horde.

It had been why the vertibirds had been employed as they were. The plan had been to bring down the giant, for they thought there was only one at the time, and then clear what they could from the air. Following the aerial assault would have been deployment of the ground teams to deal with any reclusive threats still hiding in the shadows, as well as at the Fort itself.

The original plan was now null and void.

“Radio all channels, Smith. Give them our position and status,” Paladin Danse was saying.

Knight Reed felt a world away. Hands released the fuselage distantly. Fingers touched, doing an inventory of available arms and ammunition. Time had a way of slowing when adrenaline poured into ones veins. Thoughts felt like jolts of lightning, flashing into existence one after another in such rapid succession that it seemed almost impossible. Concepts analyzed in split seconds. Perspectives weighed in only the span of a half-breath. Pros. Cons. Options. Possibilities.

And an idea.

She was, after all, unconventional.

The Brotherhood needed soldiers like Paladin Danse, like Knight Smith. The realization hit her with such intensity that it nearly stole her breath; that they needed her just as much as she had needed them. Reed was just a newcomer to it all. Just a person. Just a stranger, really. Just a body passing through this lifetime, a result of cruel circumstance rather than any direct choice. This was their world, their time and their lives. They were the real ones that needed to make it out alive. She had already dodged death twice. Once on October 23, 2077. Then with the cryostasis crash. Reed already lived in borrowed time.

“Smith,” the words flowed easily from her lips, “I need your ordinance.”

It gave pause to the instructions being relayed.

“Pardon?”

“Your grenades,” she repeated, standing up fully within her T-60. “I need your grenades.”

“Thoughts?” Danse ordered. His voice was distorted through the helmet.  

“We won’t survive an encounter with the mutants as we are now,” she said flatly, voice finding its own tone that seemed vaguely authoritative. “Not if they find us like this, separated from our team, wounded and on foot. We’re sitting ducks.”

They all knew it to be true. No objections were made to the statement.

“What’s your plan?” Smith spoke up, removing the belted equipment from his own armor and holding it out to the other soldier. Grip quickly returned to his assault rifle, staying vigilant to the vulnerable points of their current position.

“I’ll buy us some time-” she replied quickly, securing the additional explosives with hurried care.

“Negative, Reed,” Danse’s voice interrupted. There was anger on those words, nearly spoken as a bark, “No heroics. Two Behemoths... Do you even know what that means? You won’t buy us any time. You’re just going to get yourself killed if you try anything alone out there."

“If the greenskins find us here, like this, they’ll kill us all anyway,” she fixed her commander with a direct look, although it was rather muted behind the expressionless visor. They stared evenly at one another from behind their tints. “If I can draw them deeper into the ruins, make a bunch of noise, maybe it’ll distract them long enough for you to come up with Plan B.”

Smith shared a look with his superior as well. Their options, they all knew, were slim.

Reed checked her magazine, then slammed it home.

“We don’t have much of a choice, sir.”

An audio message crackled. A familiar, if somewhat hoarse, voice came over the open channel from Knight Pyke.

“Bravo, checking in. Alpha, what is your status?”

* * *

“Found Fledge,” Smith’s voice echoed in her ear.

_Thank fuck._

“He okay?” Reed asked around quick inhalations, muscles unhappy with the pace that had been set.

Running the ruins felt more like navigating a maze than evading the enemy. It was proving troublesome in its own way, offering challenges of its own in combination with the challenges created by the opposing force of hostiles. More than once the Knight had to stop and backtrack, an event that cost both time and ammunition. Fortunately, the streets and corridors did not appear to contain any true dead-ends. A fact that had proven immensely helpful as it all unfolded.

“Knocked around but he’s alright,” the veteran Knight radioed a confirmation. “He’s trying to get Paladin Danse out now but not having much luck. We don’t see any signs of Super mutant activity here.”

_Good._

“Red, location?” Sivv’s voice joined in, echoes of gunfire punctuating the background.

Bravo team knew there was an ongoing issue at Alpha’s crash site. The order had been given to create a diversion and draw the Super mutants away from the coast as best as possible. Diversion tactics were nothing new for the familiar urban team. There was logic in thinning out concentrations of Super mutants to a more preferable zone. The brutes were often not cunning enough to understand the difference between doing the chasing and being led. It proved useful.

“Central ruins. Somewhere,” she verified, unable to give an exact location.

“We’ll press South towards you and rendez—“ Pyke’s voice was cut-off.

“Negative.”

It was Paladin Danse cutting in, audio crackling almost beyond recognition.

“Keep luring the Behemoth’s North if you can. We have en route Charlie and Delta to deploy ground teams on the South shore near Fort Strong. We need to buy them time,” he instructed.

_Fuck._

“Guess I’m bringing them to you, Bravo,” Reed managed, hand dropping away as the wall around her thundered and threatened to collapse. A guttural growl rumbled on the other side.

_Time to go._

Boots were moving, body pulling away from the safety of cover to rush once more into the fray.

* * *

It had been an unpredictable and frantic journey to even make it to the inner ruins. Fortunately, with each altercation that passed, Knight Reed knew that she had made the correct choice in attempting to divert the attention of the mutants. A group had nearly been upon the crash site when they’d first encountered one another. Both had startled only half a second before bullets exchanged and curses were being shouted. They chased after her without question.

She had run, ducking left and right amongst the buildings, luring them deeper and away from the rest of Alpha. A grenade tossed back over a shoulder only served to anger the group further, falling several and antagonizing a great many others. Like hounds after a rabbit, they continued the chase into the labyrinth without mercy. Thankfully, Knight Smith had reported no Super mutant activity at their location, so it could be assumed that the diversion efforts had been successful thus far.

The Vault dweller was alive, which was good. She was also losing ground, which was bad. Several Super mutants had fallen beneath both laser rounds or grenades, which was good. Each direct assault that was taken up against the brutes gave away the darting woman’s position, however, which was bad. The grenades helped create confusion, which was good. But, she was running low on such supplies, which was bad.

One Behemoth was mounted with the group pursuing the nuisance female. Visual had been lost on the second Behemoth, which was an unnerving predicament. Neither team could locate it from their vantage points. Millerson and Jax has taken to the ruins as well, trying to find the creature amidst the nooks and crannies of the broken island. It seemed impossible to have lost sight of the second beast. Then again, their teams gathering intel over the past few weeks had also neglected to identity it entirely, so perhaps it was not such an outlandish concept after all.

Gladen’s vague plan had been simple, if it could even be called a plan.

Shoot until the hulking greenskins pressed in. Toss a grenade. Shoot into the cloud of dust that followed, aiming down each alley or street. Duck, weave and dart to new cover. Draw them deeper. Keep them coming North.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

Until there was only questionable cover remaining.

Until the Super mutants were drawing in ever closer with each passing exchange.

The group had split, flowing between the buildings like water over and around rocks. Logic, what little logic they possessed, had trickled in finally and the brutes began to work together with some notion of attempted strategy. It managed to work, considering the odds and their sheer numbers. The mutants successfully outflanked the fleeing soldier, blocking her escape and forcing the armored Knight to dart into the shadows of a half-collapsed building.

“Visual on the second Behemoth?” checked in Knight Pyke.

“Negative,” Knight Jax reported, female voice a distinctly different tone than that of Knight Reed’s.

“Red?”

“Still – SHIT!”

Yelling into the audio hadn’t been intentional. A wall exploded nearest the ducking Knight, a swing from the Behemoth’s monstrous club managing to break through the weakened structure. The force was enough to send the female soldier both tumbling and scrambling. Armored hand worked, kicking free the spent cell magazine and throwing another into place with such automation that brain scarcely gave the maneuver conscious thought.

“I’m pinned,” she managed to communicate quickly between breaths, and that was the last transmission she was able to muster.

Drawing their fire had never really been about winning. It had been purely a survival tactic, a means to buy time least the tide be given a chance to turn. With luck, there was a chance they could survive the extreme situation. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. Their teams were all in very real danger still. Ambition, skill and determination were incredible traits, but they could only temper the odds so far.

Mind worked quickly, breaths coming in sharp inhalations as the walls still standing groaned unhappily. Dust and the sound of crackling mortar spilled into the shambled room. If the meager building were rocked any further, there was no doubt it would succumb to gravity. Small as it was, the structure still offered protection from the outside forces. Super mutants could be heard on all sides, calling for blood, relaying crude orders and trying to determine if it was worth the risk to enter. Grenades had a way of creating hesitation, thankfully.

_Time was running out._

Reed pulled free Smith’s belt of ordinance and tossed it to the ground with casual care. None of the grenades upon his belt had been used, saving them in case of an emergency. The rest were all gone, having been lobbed into the horde until there were no more. However, those were not the only explosives that the T-60 had on-board. Dexterous hands sought the reserves of fragmentation mines stowed away in a side compartment. Not many, but enough. Normally they were utilized as a back-up, a means to guard an entrance, but in this instance they would be used in a more offensive means.

“Reed, status!” a male voice crackled, riddled with static. It was barely heard over the din of snarls and guttural voices nearby.

There was no time to even tap the comm link button and voice an update. If focus was lost now, the slim chance she had to escape would be even slimmer. They group had already surrounded the building and any of its possible exits. The options had grown worryingly slim. However, there were still a few possibilities worth exploring. All was not lost yet.

Fragmentation mines were set up with practiced speed adjacent to the immediate area. If the enemy got that far inside the building, it would be all over anyway. The idea of taking out a few before her own demise would be worth the trouble.

The building layout was simple. A few inner walls, most in some state of decay or destruction. Outer walls were mostly intact, save for the hole from the Behemoth and the crumbling doorway. They held aloft a second floor, which cast the main floor in protective shadows. It was perhaps another reason why the Super mutants had not rushed the building, unable to identify from the outside the exact location or status of the Knight within.

Again, the building bore the brunt of a melee assault from the Behemoth that continued to grumble. A groan rose up from the inner beams, followed by the sound of cracking concrete and the screeching of metal i-beams as they flexed under a shifting collapse. Light beamed in through the cracks, giving only a moments warning before a quarter of the second floor above tumbled down.

Quick reflexes spied the catastrophe as it unfolded and she was able to dodge the falling slab by a hairs breath. Gladen yelped unconsciously at the close call, eyes wide as the piece fell with a boom that was deep and spoke of how incredibly heavy the flat of debris was. It was becoming clear that the safety of the location was compromised. A cold sweat trickled along flushed skin.

The female Knight frantically looked for a way out, but the windows and gaps in the walls only lead either straight into more greenskins, or directly into the clutches of the waiting Behemoth. Neither of which were a preferred evacuation route. The former Vault dweller may have been a bit reckless, no doubt daring, perhaps even bold to a fault, but she wasn’t suicidal.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Hands clutched her weapon defensively. The room was not big enough for the T-60 to escape the blast radius of the set mines. It could endure much, such as a distanced blast from a Fatman nuke, an assault by a Deathclaw or even jumping from the Prydwen if a person landed correctly. However, the risk of shrapnel embedding itself within weaker points of the joints of where the plates met was a very real threat to consider at close range. Tiny particles moving at explosive speed could still do damage to the occupant, despite the thickness of the steel chestpiece. There was no room to back away further.

Limited as she was, the options were few. Reed decided to take a daring chance at escape rather than wait for them to find her in a corner and hope to hold her own. The odds were certainly not in her favor. Rifle slipped from dexterous hands, catching on the weapon straps instead of hitting the ground. Grip then set to a different task, the Brotherhood Knight moving quickly in a vie for freedom.

The roof groaned again, deep and with chest-felt reverberations that spoke only of something heavy about to finally yield. The Knight glanced up just slightly, movements taking on an urgent desperation. Either the Super mutants hadn’t heard the wailing of the building about to give, or they did not care.

A break in the opposing rifle fire must have given them enough courage to finally push forth into the scene. No grenades had been thrown by her hands in a few minutes. No gunfire returned either. No opposition from the Knight directly at all. Through dense cognitive reasoning, scarcely passing for more than instinctive impulses at times, it must have been mutually agreed upon that their prey must have run out of ammunition. That meant it was a perfect time for the Super mutants move into the building.

A group of the reckless beasts rushed the waiting figure within, pouring in as a mass of bodies through what little remained of a former door. The T-60 was backed away in one of the furthest rooms, not far from a crumbling window. A broken wall, nearly destroyed after the multiple assaults from the Behemoth outside, allowed in streams of light that caught in the lingering dust. A play of shadow and light it difficult to pick out exact details of the scene, but there was little time for that anyway.

They didn’t spy the explosives on the ground surrounding the armor. They didn’t pause in their headlong run, keen to overtake the puny human by force and surprise. Laughter rang out prematurely, victorious and guttural. The bodies rushed in tightly, eager to overwhelm the Knight and witness the fall of a Brotherhood soldier that had been irritating them so.

**Beep-tick-BOOM!**

 

Legs, limbs and torsos were torn asunder from the confined blast. Tough as the Super mutants were, all living organisms were still but flesh and blood. As much as they could withstand radiation and extreme environments, a close-range blast was an entirely different circumstance to endure. The concussive shockwave alone was enough to rupture vessels, organs and tissue within a body. Coupled with debris at high-speed and the enclosed space, few of the greenskins ended up as little more than bits and pieces of muscle and bone littering the area.

A plume of dust and the smell of copper wafted into the air, tinted with a hint of scorched skin, old paint and burnt hair. Again, the building groaned and deep grating sounds began to slowly crescendo. The T-60 power armor lay crumpled, thrown against the wall like a ragdoll from the condensed force. Joints were bent oddly and the equipment lay unmoving on the ground. The surface was pock-marked with dings and scratches from the affliction.

_Damn, that had been too close for comfort._

Green eyes glanced back hesitantly, knowing full well that could have been her down there. Hands were roughed from the uneven handholds that served as a path up onto the roof. Catching cracked concrete and exposed rebar with the frantic climbing effort had left more than a few slices and cuts. The uncomfortable and sharp edges of broken metal and stone was welcome compared to the impending doom she’d set below. Reed had made it topside only mere seconds before the frag mines detonated, thanks to the hole where the fallen slab used to be.

Forfeiting the T-60 hadn’t been her first choice at all. Not even second, third, fourth or fifth.  Yet, the hole to the roof had been scarcely larger than the diameter of a person. Certainly not large enough to fit through while decked out in full protective armor. It had been an urgent calculation of pros and cons. In the end, escaping the direct altercation with the horde had become priority. A sacrifice of the power armor had to be made. Plus, it had served as a momentary distraction, enough to draw them in to their deaths. That had been a bonus in the grand scheme of things.

A belt of grenades hung from Reed’s neck. Righteous Authority hung from a strap. Pistol was in her leg holster. What little ammunition she’d managed to pull from the T-60 was stuffed haphazardly into her fatigues, offering a strangely shaped bosom for the time being. Head snapped up, quickly scanning the landscape as a familiar sound echoed from the street below. Laser rifle fire could be heard in close proximity, and it was not from her own.

_Team Bravo._

Feet carried Gladen to the edge of the rooftop, temporarily shrouded by the plumbing dust. T-60s were moving in the distance, engaging in a spread fashion as they pressed towards the scene that had no doubt caught their attention. Despite the group that had been brought down by the blast, a great many Super mutants still littered the area. Upon arrival of the other team, however, most howled and scattered, breaking their grouping as they rushed to cover. A lone Knight was one thing. A group of Knights in formation was worthy of caution.

The Behemoth, who was currently crouching to investigate the explosion that had occurred just seconds before, was drawn by the sound of Brotherhood gunfire and began to pull upright once more. Massive head swiveled as lips pulled back into a snarl, beady eyes searching the street for the source of the interruption. There were only seconds left for the opportunity. Seconds before the beast would back away from the building in an attempt to chase after the newly arrived team.  

As the Behemoth began to turn away, Reed took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes... and jumped down towards it.

The leap was terrifying. No single part of a person’s body would ever willingly desire to jump onto a two-story hostile creature. Muscles nearly refused. Breath caught in a tight throat. Mind reeled, as if wondering who had given that command. Despite the internal protests, boots had pushed off without holding back. Arms braced, hands already outstretched and assessing where the landing would be. No doubt any who witnessed the scene would believe the woman to be completely and utterly insane.

A victorious shout erupted from tense lips as the Knight landed and caught a naked grip on the hulking form of the beast. An odor like no other offended the senses more so than any ghoul had ever done before. Had the former Vault dweller’s mind not been awash with adrenaline and terror, there might have been the instinctive notion to retch.

Muscles beneath her orange-and-cream fatigues flexed with all their might, clinging desperately to the minimal garments the creature was donning as clothes. Rudimentary straps comprised of all manner of textiles served as a patchwork for both utility and protection. A strange backpack of an item hung secured to the Behemoth’s back by a strap the woman now held, constructed from a mixture of tied seatbelts, old shopping carts and bent wire.

_Was that... a Brahman skeleton at the bottom of the cart-cage?_

It looked dried out, half-bonded to the nickel-plated bars.

Snarling interrupted the brief acknowledgement of the decomposing creature. The Behemoth stood upright quickly after feeling the unfamiliar passenger now abroad his form like a tick. It turned first to the right, and then to the left, as if trying to gain visual on where exactly the intrusive smoothskin was clinging. Although appearing slow from the ground, it was quite a different concept when dangling two stories in the air with almost nothing for a foothold. Each movement and jerking motion from the beast threatened to dislodge the BOS soldier entirely.

Reed grit her teeth, summoning strength to ride out the jerking movements, and pulled the ordinance belt from her neck with purpose. There was no time for delicacy, tact or even being meticulously thorough. It would only take a single hard turn to finally wrench her free of her grip. There were only seconds to get the task completed.

The belt was tucked quickly beneath one of the tighter straps on the creature’s shoulders, not far from the beast’s head and neck. It was a snug fit, and the only reason she was able to accomplish such a feat with a single had was due to the sudden slack of the seat belt strap when the creature swiped towards her with an arm. It was opportunity enough, and served its purpose. The belt was shoved under, the strap suddenly becoming tight once more, and hung securely. Or, rather, as securely as could be managed given the circumstances. Decent and done was better than perfect and unfinished.

Again, a large green hand swiped dangerously close. The Behemoth was growing increasingly agitated. It moved and jerked more violently as each second passed, nearly successful in wrenching free the puny human by sheer velocity. It was working. Gladen’s feet slipped, a single hand catching hold with firm desperation. A cry fell from her lips at the short drop, shoulder twisting painfully in its socket.

Time slowed.

_Now or never._

Bare fingers reached out towards the waiting grenades. Fingertips gathered the pins with a clawed and scooping gesture, managing to secure almost all of them with the gesture. A deep breath came before the effort. It was a long way down, after all.

_Dammit._

Knight Reed yanked hard, successfully pulling what pins she could, and let go her grip of the creature.

A few efforts were made to slow the sudden gravity-induced descent, grasping at and rolling against the moving flesh-cliff desperately. It did little to change matters. As it were, the earth rose to meet the plummeting soldier much quicker than anticipated. It was rather unyielding. Unarmored human body connected without mercy, part of her breaking instead of bending with the force despite an attempt to roll with the momentum. Pain flared up the nerves of her right arm, suddenly feeling as if it were awash in flames.

_No time._

Feet kicked as boots sought purchase and leverage, opposite hand pushing against the broken asphalt to rise. Muscles flexed, throwing the fatigue-garbed body away from the beast. Each second ticked by with acute clarity. **Tick. Tick.** The soles of her boots scraped against the ground, frantically pushing. A small wall nearby would have to do. Gladen leapt behind it, not even giving a notion to try and protect her injury.

 

**BOOM!**

 

Satisfaction came as the grenades played their part. An explosion with heat and force. It threw scrap, materials and other questionable compounds in all directions adjacent to the scene. A single grenade was potent when used in the proper application. A handful had been suspected to accomplish a far grander outcome. It proved to be true. The small capsules of explosives tore the great beast asunder. Flying bits of frag and force wrenched muscle from bone in a morbid, yet satisfying, display. What had once been the towering creature’s upper torso and back was little more than a void of red meat and bone.

The Behemoth’s great knees buckled. Thunder announced its fall and collapse, twitching muscles struggling helplessly as it slumped. Blood gushed in great torrents to the broken street below, tinting the air with the general foulness that the greenskins possessed in both life and death.

_It had worked._

_It had fucking worked._

She laughed a single bitter note without humor from her spot behind the wall.

_One Behemoth down._

* * *

Muscles trembled from a cocktail of fatigue, adrenaline and waves of pain coursing through an already exerted system. A steadying breath was drawn in an attempt to quell the trembles, but it fellow shallow and did little to bring relief to chest and limbs. What must have only been a short time on the ground had somehow managed to feel like hours already come and gone. Exhaustion crept into muscles and mind. A determined left hand was making quick work of removing the rifle strap attached to Righteous Authority with only some minor difficulty. Lip quivered ever so slightly, eyes closing now and then as if to gather resolve in order to keep on task.

“We got eyes on Reed.”

Footsteps echoed along with the voice, both drawing nearer as the expanse of distance between them was crossed. No more hostiles lay in wake in the immediate vicinity, having either been put down by the careful marksmanship of team Bravo, or they had run off back to the remainder of the horde to regroup. The area was clear for the moment, but only time would tell if that would last.

Righteous Authority clattered to the ground, released from its strap and slipping from the injured woman’s lap without any attempt to halt its descent. A pause came after the effort, not quite mentally ready to move her injured arm into the improvised sling just yet. The very idea of adjusting the dangling appendage was enough to twist the stomach into an uneasy, anxious knot.

_It could wait a few minutes longer._

Familiar T-60s, modified and donning urban embellishments and stylization, fell into view and took up the immediate area in a protective stance. Human company was a welcomed sight after living in a sea of crumbling buildings and angry green forms for the last portion of an hour. Despite the thick of the situation they were all still currently in and the dangers it posed, there was comfort to be found amongst teammates. Realization that perhaps she wouldn’t have to continue on alone after all.

“Was I ever glad to see you guys out there,” she said emphatically, meaning every word.

Sivv bent to examine their unarmored comrade, his own body still fully encased in a protective suit. Steel-covered hands seemed huge in comparison to the normal grip of most humans. Yet, the dexterity they offered while operational was still remarkably similar to that of the normal hands beneath.

“You good?” he asked, voice only mildly distorted over the audio relay as he touched the side of her head, angling it slightly as he examined a split there that she hadn’t even realized existed. A single metallic finger held up after the brief assessment, moving it back and forth as the female’s green eyes instinctively followed without difficulty.

“I’m okay. Arm’s fucked though,” she stated flatly, although feeling rather fortunate that that was the only adverse outcome, given the circumstances.

“Can’t stim that,” Sivv said apologetically. “Might need to be set first.”

“Figured,” Reed responded in weak resignation, knowing that meant tolerating it for a little while longer. “Help me sling it, then. Not sure I can manage that myself. Unless you got something to take the edge off?”

The T-60 before her made a thoughtful noise, but was interrupted.

“What the hell was that, Red?” Knight Pyke joined the duo, clearly on-guard as he continued to scan the scene with rifle in position. “The fuck were you thinking jumping on a Behemoth like that?”

“Got outflanked,” she justified, but found arguing the concept came out weaker than intended. “Didn’t have many options left. Trust me, it wasn’t my first choice in that situation.”

“I can’t think of anyone who would have come with that idea as even a last resort,” Pyke countered.

"I might..."

"Shut up, Sivv."

“It worked, didn’t it?” Reed spat in sudden defense.

_Had it been tactical? No. Had it worked? Yes._

The calculated risk had managed to bring down a Behemoth, even if it had not been the most ideal of choices. That was worthy of some recognition, at least.

“Damn rights it did,” Knight Sivv chimed in helpfully, pulling out twin capsules and indicating that Reed take them.

The former Vault dweller took the pills that looked large enough to down an elephant and looked them over for only a half a heartbeat. With a free hand, she tossed them into her mouth with a dry swallow and cringed at the coarse bitter taste. It took a few forceful efforts to manage to get them down, but they went even without a chase of water. A wishful part of the mind hoped that those were to take the edge off and not something from Sivv’s private stash of chems. Hopeful, but Reed wasn't about to be choosy.

Pyke sighed heavily enough for it to register over the audio.

“It did accomplish the task,” the team lead conceded finally, shaking his head as if the entire idea were crazy. “But don’t go making a habit of that. And don’t you idiots go and get any smart ideas from her either.”

“Hey Sivv,” she tilted a wincing grin at the almost-albino. “Look who’s the bad influence now.”

A snort of amusement broke through the audio as the platinum-blonde gave an approving thumbs-up.

Securing the broken arm thereafter was an event onto its own. Several curses managed to fall from what certainly were not lady-like lips in that moment. An unintentional kick flinched out of pure reflex, catching the would-be-medic in the shin. Little good it did against the steel, however. Despite this, the process still seemed easier with multiple hands. The concept of trying to manage such a task with only one good non-dominant limb seemed like it would have been a complicated feat. It also helped to have another person moving the arm too, as stars danced and focus was temporarily lost when the limb flared up to feel more like acid-poured-on-bone than just knife-on-fire.

“I’m good,” she managed to get out with a grunt after a minute of deep breathing, throat feeling parched and chalky. Eyes closed, as if double-checking that assessment. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Speculation might have read across Sivv’s features inside, but they did not convey through the protective helm of reinforced metal and glass. Still, a firm grip settled around the woman’s uninjured arm and pulled the bracing Knight back to her feet with ease. A steadying hold was maintained for only a few moments, ensuring that there was stability in the other teammate before releasing fully.

“Thanks,” Reed said, rifle in her remaining good hand.

“Don’t mention it,” offered the distorted reply with an confirming nod.

“Jax and Millerson located the other Behemoth,” Knight Pyke updated quickly, taking that moment of multiple eyes and weapons to reload his own guns. “Danse, Fledge and Smith are holding position on the Western shore. The larger group with the second Behemoth were initially coming in this direction, but then changed course and are now going South after identifying our other vertibirds in the area.”

“Charlie and Delta?” Reed questioned, attempting to recall specific details from their briefing.

“Correct,” the senior ranking Knight continued. “They’re dropping off teams and engaging on the South shore nearest the Fort. No doubt where the second Behemoth is heading towards now, given the increase in activity. We gotta meet up with Alpha team in case the Behemoth group decides to investigate the first crash while they’re on their way South."

_Shit._

“We should get moving, then,” Knight Reed responded evenly, wrestling her rifle into position awkwardly. Righteous Authority was not designed for single-handed operation, after all.

“You’re staying back while we deal with this, bullet-sponge,” Pyke interjected.

“Like hell I will,” she protested, perhaps with more venom than intended. A wince, not meaning the words to come out as harshly as they did. A more calm voice spoke next, drawing on logic rather than reflex, “You guys could use the extra gun.”

There was a pause from the urban Knight lead as he contemplated for a few brief seconds. Visored helmet turned to regard her, managing somehow to appear conflicted despite the lack of features.

“Fine,” he remarked begrudgingly, “But, for the record, I argued against it. Stay back and stay low. I won’t have my team taking extra risks just to keep an eye on you.”

It sounded as if there were more words to be said, but lips fell silent from the ranking Knight. An armored hand reached up with finger hovering over the audio relay switch as if waiting to respond to a communication being received. Gladen, of course, had no helmet with which to hear the internal messages being exchanged. Even an attentive ear would struggle to decipher the muffled transmission and its exact details from a position outside the helmet.

"Roger that. We're en route to your location," the urban leader said, fingers touching the switch. A tinted visor turned to the female Knight now in their company. “Alpha team is requesting assistance.”

“Let’s go,” the copper-red haired woman responded evenly, confirming readiness. A slight tingle had begun to creep along the aggravated nerves of an overwhelmed system. The sharp edge was dulling. It was relief enough to almost sigh in gratitude as the pills she was given seemed to be kicking in with remarkable speed. Whether that was a good or bad thing would remain to be seen.

“Think you can figure out a way to take down the other Behemoth, Red?” remarked Sivv, shielded gaze swiveling to their fatigue-wearing comrade as their strides transitioned into an urgent pace.

Green eyes glanced at the other Knight incredulously, matching step carefully so as not to trip over the uneven ground and injure anything further.

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

* * *

Twin rounds of flash-heated lead mushroomed through the encased skull of the relentless form that had his hands on Fledge’s throat. Velocity tore through flesh and bone at close range, the muzzle flash obscured by the close proximity of the barrel exit to the green temple. Grey matter rippled and ruptured, a shockwave so instant that even the sharpest eyes would have failed to witness it. Bone splintered. Tissue parted. Blood immediately seeped into the void. The Super mutant's assault stopped instantly as the massive body twitched and collapsed, signals from the head no longer making their way to the rest of the body.

Everything was happening so quickly. One moment after another with little pause in-between. Gunshot. Another Super mutant dropped. Shouts in the distance. Some were guttural, some were human. Thunderous footsteps confirmed the presence of the Behemoth nearby. Still too close for comfort. Yet, it was momentarily distracted. Sniper rounds to the face had frenzied the animal, taking an eye in the process.

_How fitting._

Rey, after all, had lost an eye of his own in the crash. A shattered visor had broken and ruptured inward with the explosive force. Broken shards of glass had peppered the scholarly features within, taking an expensive toll on the occupant within. The one-eyed sniper now engaged the one-eyed Behemoth, keeping it engaged as best he could along with the rest of Bravo team.

Hands grasped at the unarmored Knight, pulling the less protected human close as feet worked to push them back into cover after she had killed the Super mutant on top of him. Pistol was held firmly in her grip, ready to target any other remaining threats if they dared too close. Lifting the woman was easy. Hurrying from the close-quarter combat they had just narrowly escaped became immediate priority. Another series of rounds blazed by. Laser. Red. Friendly. Everyone was watching each other’s back as best they could.

Bodies littered the ground around them. Fledge had taken a few down before being overwhelmed. The Knight’s helmet had been rlost in the scuffle, wrenched free as they poured over him relentlessly. It had nearly been the end, had Millerson not cut a path through the mass, jumped into the midst and engaged the enemy so assertively. Even Reed had joined the cause to help their brother-in-arms, possessing little more than agility and a .45 with fresh rounds. It had been she to rush to his aid, dodging the grasping hands of other Super mutants to kill the one that was choking the life from a teammate. Why Knight Reed wasn’t in donning the issued T-60 was anybody’s guess, but there was little time to dwell on such an obscure concept until the immediate threat was managed.

"Miller!" Reed called out, now being toted by the larger Knight away from the field of battle. The .45 was still held at the ready, elbow levering against the thick T-60 plates to pull herself to a higher vantage point. "Throw it!"

“Throw what?” Fledge asked, but got no immediate response.

If there was any type of plan, the brooding Knight had no idea if he was designated to play a part in it or not. It seemed a lot had happened in the past several moments since losing his helmet. Communication was paramount to successful missions, but sometimes they had to simply fall back on their training and rely on making the right choice in the right moment. Was it best to stop, or keep going as instinct urged him to? Blood trickled from a broken nose, forcing the broad-shouldered man to breathe through an open mouth. Cheek felt hot and tight, no doubt swelling from the hammer-blows received from an angry green fist only minutes ago. Yet, no objection came from the former Vault dweller in his arms, so he continued to run. Any distance put between them and the flailing Behemoth could only be a good thing.

“Fledge, cover?” she requested with an urgent tone. Pistol leveled off, taking aim at the world from the vantage point of her teammate’s shoulder back towards where the horde continued to rouse. The T-60 jostled with each stride, and the woman fought hard to compensate for the sway.

Dark eyes locked on a semblance of a wall nearby, and wondered if that would suffice.

 

_Bang-Bang-Bang **-**_ **_BOOOOM!_ **

 

Heat and radiation hit them like a rogue wave at the beach, tumbling friend and foe all around with intense force. There had been no time to even think of getting to cover. It had rocked them only half a heartbeat after the explosion had been triggered. On board Geiger counter crackled frantically in alarm. Sandy ground slipped from beneath Fledge as the large man attempted to reach out and brace for impact, ducking his exposed head as best he could and pulling Reed closer out of protective instinct. Together they crashed against a crumbling wall that would have been their cover, had they been behind it only a few steps sooner. It knocked the duo at an awkward angle, and Knight Fledge found himself letting go of the smaller form in an attempt to not land on top of her in full armor.

The explosion hadn't been terribly vast, but at its epicenter, it was certainly intense and terrifying. It must have detonated not far from their position to explain why they were rocked so violently. Skin felt scorched and tender on the back of a bare neck, the smell of singed hair a nose-wrinkling fragrance mixed with the metallic scent of blood. Mind idly thought of how much of hair he'd have to cut off to even off a brutal singe.

 _Shame._ He'd just gotten it how he liked it.

Once the initial blast had settled, so too did the area around begin to clear. Ears were ringing and senses were overloaded, as if the T-60 had become a giant bell that had been chimed by a massive hammer. Sounds began to grow clearer, able to pick out the crackling of heat that was smoldering nearby. Embers chewed on some type of organic fuel, although it was hard to tell if it was dry brush or flesh from one less fortunate. A groan unintentionally came from swollen lips, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon as he pushed himself up to all fours amongst the rubble.

"Reed?" he rasped, blinking against the dust and wishing for a breeze to clear the area. Reflex nearly caused him to shake his head to clear it, but experience stalled such a notion.

"I'm here," she managed groggily. "See Miller anywhere?"

Their comrade had been much closer to the blast radius, seeing as he had been the one to throw the nuclear payload. A leftover device from a shot-down Super mutant suicider. Active, pulsing, ready to been unleashed. The idea had been foolish, brave and impulsive. No doubt one taken up on the fly without discussion from the higher-ups as to whether or not it was worth the risk. Millerson did have a fine arm, and was bold enough to try and football toss the heavy payload as best he could towards the Behemoth. Reed, even left-handed, had managed to skeet-shoot the device for maximum effect as it reached its target.

It was hard to say where the heroic Knight had ended up.

Fledge pushed himself to his feet, using his laser rifle briefly for stability. However, once up, body automatically fell back into routine. A breeze picked up, sweeping away the lingering dust and grit like some sort of morbid curtain being drawn back on the scene. No longer did the Behemoth stand, but instead, it had slumped to the ground in a dismal fashion without movement. Super mutants immediately adjacent to the area nearest it were little more than dots of scorched green and green littering the landscape. Gunfire had dwindled to a trickle, and even that was becoming sporadic as Bravo dealt the final blows to the remaining figures that stumbled about in shock.

A suit of power armor rose from the ashes, reminiscent of a phoenix, as it pushed aside two corpses that had toppled atop him during the blast. Integrity of the equipment seemed to be intact. Miller was perhaps a bit unsteady, but generally speaking, looked to be in one piece. Confirmation was made that it was indeed the Knight they were looking for, and that it was unlikely he was injured. Millerson rummaged through the debris, drew forth a weapon, then kicked a nearby Super mutant with a vulgar curse.

"Found him," Fledge relayed, words mumbling as a flattened and bloody nose made certain pronunciations difficult. Even still, the large male ventured over to make sure his distant assessment of the BOS soldier was accurate.

A bare hand reached up as if to convey the message to the rest of the team, but Gladen recalled immediately that her helmet was long gone when fingers touched only flesh and copper-red tresses rather than a relay communication switch. Arm lowered carefully. Reed resigned herself to her current position, not eager to make any sudden movements anytime soon.

It was true that she was alright, but had most certainly caught the half-wall during their tumble. Ribs felt as if they were sufficiently broken on one side, making their presence known with sharp sensations that even cut through the slight buzz of the painkillers Sivv had provided earlier. Left hand relinquished the empty pistol and instinctively moved to hold the area protectively. Yet even that was enough to cause hand to flinch and breath to draw sharply through teeth, fingers recoiling away from the tender location.

_Nope._

She would just lay there for the moment and get her bearings. Eyes closed as she drew slow and careful breaths, beginning to internally evaluate the physical status of her self. Right arm was tingling and numb, but would sharply protest with even most marginal shifting of the limb. Ribs were no doubt broken on said right side as well, preventing more than a shallow breath of air. Tongue probed a split lip and the taste of blood, but that was minimal. A headache drummed, but it was difficult to tell what exactly that was from. It had, after all, been a taxing day in general.

A voice interrupted such thoughts.

"Why," it stated disapprovingly, "are you in fatigues?"

Eyes the color of green pools looked up through a complexion of dirt, grime and dust. A hint of blood spray added to the ambiance, likely that of another rather than her own. Despite the current situation, the struggles and the still tentative grasp of potential victory, expression softened into a tired smile.

"Had a run-in with some mutties," she answered dutifully, although the voice was tired. "I'll do up a report later. Are you okay? Smith?”

"Fine," Paladin Danse answered, his T-60 covered in a fine layer of clinging beach sand that was just damp enough to stick to the uneven surface in parts. Helmet had been temporarily foregone, no doubt in part to the malfunctioning audio that had been screeching just moments after their crash. Features were hardened as he surveyed the area for a moment, on-guard. Yet, the scene was no longer as threatening as it had once been. The ratio of Brotherhood presence now greatly outweighed the local hostile occupation. Deep auburn eyes regarded his recruit with a critical gaze.

"You look like hell."

Gladen nearly laughed, if the very concept had not been excruciating. Instead, the former Vault dweller merely offered an agreeing nod.

"Good to see you too, sir.”

"Can you walk?" he asked genuinely then, crouching alongside his recruit. Vocal tone was still very much that of authority, expression hardened into an unreadable mask. 

Reed reflected on the question as if internally asking her body the very same question.

"Yeah," she finally admitted, "Think so.”

An armored hand was offered as assistance, and it was taken with gratitude. The idea of trying to lever up in her current state had been reason enough to give her pause initially. A hand was very much welcome. Even still, the movement was cautious, and it took only a slight flexing to determine that standing would be an inadvisable task. Something shifted and a fresh white hot flare of pain washed through an already aggravated system. It erupted from her torso and engulfed the adjacent areas relentlessly with a burning hot sensation.

Danse paused, tensing as Gladen's expression twisted and form grew rigid. 

“Sit back down,” he ordered.

Words failed her for the moment, lingering in a tight throat as mind attempted to wrap around the concept of what was happening. It felt as if she had suddenly been shot, but there had been no gunfire just then. No sound. Nothing. Even so, the feeling had been intense and instant. The comfort of ground beneath her, although rocky and uneven, was enough to allow some muscles to relax. Most, however, braced out of sheer reflex.

Left hand gripped her right side urgently as if to stem the agony there, and upon applying pressure, the sensations seemed to only increase.

"Fuck," she managed to breathe, although the word was tight and seemed to be an exhalation of air rather than an intended curse.

A wet sensation of warmth crept between each finger as she clutched, and eyes did not need to confirm the sight of deep crimson to know that it was blood that seeped through the fabric. It was thick, warm at first, then cooling as it was exposed to the air. 

_Had she really been shot, then? When?  
_

_Fuck, that hurt._

"Move your hand."

The instruction came in an surprisingly even and calm tone, given as an order but not barked or shouted. It seemed almost a suggestion. Strangely, though, such a calm instantly cut through the distraction of everything and was easily heard. A welcome calm to be found within the sudden internal chaos. Bloodied bare hand relinquished its hold, and soon, an armored one took its place with a much heavier application of pressure. Unintentionally, the female Knight braced against it. Eyes wincedclosed as boot heels scraped against the ground, as if pushing to evade the gesture.

"I know," he said apologetically.

_Did he know the feeling?_

_Surely he must have._

Reed remembered tracing such scars with explorative fingertips in prior encounters.

A search for on-board medkit proved futile, lost somewhere between the crash, being pinned and being freed when the fuselage shifted in the blast. Lips curved into a frustrated frown as the Paladin uttered under his breath. It wasn't a curse so much as it was just a remark on the dismal day all the teams were managing to have. Still, the hand holding the bleeding wound did not stray. Instead, he sat back slightly and shouted towards the figures in the distance.

"I need a Stimpak, and a medkit!" he ordered. Satisfaction as they heard him, and the distant grey figures in the dusty crater began to hurry over. It did little to stem the various feelings coursing within, however. Intense gaze settled upon her own, deep auburn against emerald green. Emotions rolled beneath the surface of the stony expression like a riptide beneath the calm surface of a glassy sea. "This is why I didn't want you rushing off like that."

_Ah, so they were going to have this talk now..._

"It worked..." she struggled slightly without intending to, trying to force muscles to relax with little result. Stinging betrayed the attempt to keep a neutral expression, beads of lingering tears threatening to spill from the corner of each eye. A grin was forced to pale lips, "I found my way back into your arms, didn't I?"

Humor did little to change the steel-hardened expression that hovered above her, tight and thick like some wall being built around the emotions contained within. A touch of a frown crept into her own features, realizing how difficult this must be to look down upon and remain detached. Then again, Reed hadn't intended to get shot. Also, though, the outcome was guaranteed to be a crapshoot from the beginning regardless.

"Not at the expense of being injured," he reprimanded again, although the anger was half-hearted. _Now look at you,_ he wanted to say, but held his tongue. It was as if he wanted to be angry, but somehow was falling short. “It was reckless.”

"Sometimes reckless works," she countered softly, not wanting to argue. “We are still alive."

The idea of being overwhelmed at the crash site was enough to bring a knot into ones stomach. Of having to fall back as they pressed forward. Of leaving Danse behind if the Super mutants had found the vertibird. Of trying to defend with Smith, but finding themselves facing off against the Behemoth on losing ground. As difficult as it had been, it had bought time. Everyone was still alive. A few injuries was a small price to pay. 

A bloodied hand came to rest on top of his, or at least as best she could manage. A thick tongue swallowed hard, feeling unfocused and overwhelmed.

"I had to,” she countered, as if the reasoning behind it were plain as day, “because the world needs people like you."

There was no attempt as lightening the mood in those words. No joking remarks. No amusement. No banter. It was raw, honest. Heart-on-sleeve. Real. Most of all, it was real. There was no denying the truth. She was, after all, just a stranger. A visitor. Someone who shouldn't exist, but did. Someone that should have died a long time ago, but didn't. An expendable asset. It was their world, not hers.

He drew a breath, and the frown deepened.

"People like me," he said almost carefully, "need people like you."

Footsteps drew close, the grating sound of boots against gravel and aggregate revealing more than a handful of the team returning to regroup. No more gunshots had sounded off in the past couple of minutes. No more shouting. No more howling. In fact, it seemed strangely quiet, save for the occasional ripping sound of minigun fire at Fort Strong as Charlie and Delta continued the mission.

"Millerson, toss that over here," Danse instructed with urgency. "Does it have a Stimpak?"

The voices began to grow mixed with one another, a handful speaking over one another. Gladen was hard-pressed to look around for everyone, head swimming a bit, and resigned herself to just taking it easy for the next little while. If there was no weapons being discharged, then it was more than likely everything was under control.

“Charlie and Delta have the Fort.”

“Behemoth’s down.”

“Both Behemoths,” confirmed Knight Pyke, voice clear and commanding of presence standing out from the rest.

“Reed’s hit?” Fledge remarked then, confused as to when that had happened exactly. 

"She'll be alright," remarked Danse almost off-handedly, rummaging through the medkit and successfully withdrawing an intact Stimpak.

“Dammit!” uttered Millerson and he threw something, but it was hard to say if it was meant in a specific context or just a broad exasperation of how the day had gone so far.

“ _Fucking_ greenskin _cuntbag_ - _,”_ Sivv contributed ever-so-tastefully.

“Area cleared?” Paladin Danse interrupted the almost-albino, head turning to address Knight Pyke over a shoulder.

“Yes, sir. We did a brief sweep before regrouping. If there are any left, they are holed up and non-combative.”

“I want a parameter set up in the meantime. Radio Delta and Charlie. I want status reports,” Danse’s voice darkened, as if scarcely checked frustration lingered beneath the words that were being spoken. It had not been a good day for any of the teams. No doubt there would be logistic meetings as follow-up with regards to the shoddy intel that had nearly cost them dearly. There was still not sign of either Lancer pilot. The fact the BOS body count wasn't higher was cause enough to thank lady luck or whatever deity was worth praying to these days. 

A figure settled in on the opposite side of the officer, hands exchanging positions as someone else took over the duty of keeping pressure on Reed's torso wound. It was still seeping badly, and it was an unwelcome measure when those hands twisted the fatigues to hold the wound more tightly closed. Features were obscured by the T-60 housing. A foggy mind was having difficulty in identifying who exactly it was perched near, until they spoke.

“Do you remember what happened?” a calmvoice was asking, lifting up her hand just briefly to glance beneath before applying uncomfortable pressure once more.

_Ah, it was Jax._

The other female Knight of the group.

_At least it wasn’t Millerson trying to cop a feel._

Somewhere, a Stimpak hissed. Reed was hard-pressed to determine where it had been administered.

“No idea...” Gladen confessed, shivering as the cold of the Stimpak traveled up her veins. Teeth nearly chattered as an instant response. _Shock, perhaps?_ That wasn't terribly unlikely, all things considered. _  
_

"Reed? You gotta keep your eyes open. That’s an order. Don’t let her close them," Paladin Danse fell once more back into the role of the officer, hardened and direct.

“Yes, sir,” Reed managed to slur, wishing the day would just hurry up and be over with. She was exhausted. Limbs felt as if they were filled with lead. 

"Get a vertibird here for med-evac. We need to get Reed and Smith back to base,” Danse continued.

Green managed to catch a look from the officer, her secret lover, and examined the cold attempt at detachment he wore like a suit of armor. A type of protection. Of keeping a distance between the scene and protecting the emotions within. It made sense. No one knew. Knight Reed was just a teammate beneath the direction of their Paladin. Caring was one thing. Caring too deeply was quite another. Deep brown orbs betrayed him easily, however. The concern that lingered there. The hint of worry. Perhaps even fear.

It was strange. Reed could hardly recall ever seeing him afraid of anything.

“Rey too,” the voice of Pyke chimed in, adding to the list of evacuees. 

Comforting brown gaze was lost as the Paladin looked away, swearing softly. A gathering of composure was made as the senior officer drew a deep breath and fell into the role which he had spent his whole life striving for. The day was not yet over. Other teams were still finishing off stragglers. Until they were back at the Prydwen, there was still much work to be done. Mission details left to be fulfilled. Areas to be secured. It settled like an old friend, the weight of responsibility sitting heavily on scarred shoulders. 

“Miller,” he instructed without question, “give me your audio unit. I need to get orders out so we can get off this godforsaken island before anymore shit hits the fucking fan.”


	17. Outside the Vault: Day 182

Smoke curled up into the still air from between his fingertips, the tip of his cigarette glowing a soft red amidst the low-light of Paladin Danse’s quarters. A single desk lamp glowed dimly rather than the harsh overhead fluorescents buzzing. It had been a few months since he’d touched the damn things; his cigarettes. Out in the field, out on missions, one didn’t have time to think about or have the spare resources for such trivial thingsl. Not when there were more important matters to attend to and focus on.

A small dot of ash tumbled off the tip as it slowly smoldered, working its way down the length of the rolled paper. A hand brought the filter to his lips, taking a drag before resting the cigarette idly there for a moment. Smoking was heavily restricted when aboard the airship. However, he was of no mood to stand in the wind of the observation deck.

Calloused fingers slowly turned the holotape over in his hands yet again, reading the front of it once more. Scribbled in someone’s messy handwriting were the words: “Hi Honey!” They were jotted right across the yellow-faded label, barely legible. With a click and snap, Danse returned the holotape to the Pip-Boy. The Paladin took another drag of his cigarette, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the advanced pre-war tech sitting on his desk.

He hit ‘Play’ again. A male voice came over the audio speaker of the device.

Feedback sounds with a small distortion of static interrupted the first few seconds of the tape.

“Oops. Ha ha ha. No, no. Little fingers away. There we go…”

The holotape crackled slightly. Old, worn. A majority of the words were still discernible amidst the feedback and white noise. It went through the entire recording without much difficult. Little noises of an infant peppered the background in spots. Danse continued to listen.

“… There will be changes, sure. Things we’ll need to adjust to. I’ll rejoin the civilian workforce. You’ll shake the dust off your law degree…”

_Was that why she had fallen so easily in step within a military posting, having been familiar with it before the war?_

He tapped the cigarette lightly, knocking ash from the tip. The Paladin stared at the cherry-red ember glowing at the end for several moments before idly snuffing it out in a nearby ashtray next to his monitor. He knitted his fingers together behind his head, leaning back in the chair as the holotape continued to play.

“…But everything we do, no matter how hard… we do it for our family. Now say goodbye, Shaun…. Bye bye? Say bye bye…?... “

The tape fizzled and cracked.

“… e love yo…”

The holotape clicked and fell silent.

The Paladin recalled her story again, back when she’d first joined at them at the police station. She was calm, cool, collected. She wasn’t spooked, wasn’t panicked. Observant. Incredibly astute. Willing to help without asking for caps or payment. Followed orders, for the most part. Yet, she still had a kind way about her, not hard nor needlessly abrasive even when things got rough. Hell, she even tried her best to make amends with Knight Rhys a couple of times, no easy task.

She had been alone during that.

Danse thought about lighting another cigarette as his thoughts continued to analyze the events of the past months together. About their missions. About the settlements. Her goings on about the Commonwealth. Wherever she went, people remembered her time and time again. She had never allowed herself to be the victim in all this. Gladen hadn’t run back to the Vault when life got hard. Hadn’t given up in the midst of it all.

He had always felt inclined to keep an eye on his recruit, promising it was with the most professional of intentions. Now, with time having gone by as they worked side by side, that relationship had changed into much more than just recruit and officer.

Idle hands lit another cigarette in the dim light. He exhaled softly as he stared up at the ceiling, still leaning back in his chair.

At first it had sat strangely with him. The Brotherhood had always been his driving force in all things. Absolutely there were connections between his brothers and sisters in arms. The kind of connection that kept everyone on the lookout for one another’s backs. Yet with Reed it had been different. He’d found himself watching her more closely. Being more mindful of her safety. Hell, he had even given her more leeway in addressing him.

_Perhaps it hadn’t been as professional from the start as he thought..._

Even more complicated had been matters of her life before now. He frowned slightly in the privacy of his quarters. It was a matter he had given much thought of as of late. Smoke curled gently upwards, rolling in a slight draft. Danse drew another breath of the strongly flavoured tobacco. It didn’t taste as good as he remembered.

Matters between him and the Knight had, he hoped, remained private. Of the brief interactions between the two when no one was around. A touch. A kiss. A squeeze of the hand. Memory recalling instances when it had lead to something more. Brown eyes settled on the holotape on his desk, still sitting in the playback system of the Pip-Boy.

She’d had someone once. A family. A husband. A child.

He’d poured over historical documents in his training with the Brotherhood. About life before the war. About what life had been like back then. In all honesty, he had never been truly able to picture it. Not the way the texts and books had said. And yet here, in his very squad, was someone from the past that had lived it, breathed the clean air and drank the pure water without a worry.

Until the bombs fell.

Until they killed everyone she loved and held dear.

At first he had felt somewhat amiss in pursuing interest in Reed, in seeking companionship with someone so new to this world, someone who had lost their family in all of this. Yet, that had changed over 210 years ago. A statement made by her own words. Gladen Smith had died in the Vault, she had said. The person Danse knew today was entirely different than the doting housewife she’d made mention of in the briefest of passing, apparently.

Terrible things had befallen nearly everyone in the Commonwealth. Everyone had lost someone. Even the Paladin was able to recall instances of losing close companions and mentors as the years drew on. It would be choking to think about if he were to dwell on those memories too long.

Maybe that was why he had told her in the end. Risked it all to make his feelings known. Had she rejected him, it would have gone back to simply professional roles within the ranks of the Brotherhood.

But, he was glad she had felt an attachment as well.

Danse might never be able to replace what she had lost. Of that, he was certain. The past was the past. He couldn’t recreate the life she’d once known. Not exactly. There was no way to entirely replicate a happy pre-war existence. But, perhaps he could do his best in the here and now. Keep her safe. Keep her cared for. Let her know that she’s not alone. That’s all he wanted. A chance to show her that she’s not in the world alone.

Tough fingers snuffed out his cigarette slightly harder than he meant to as it crushed beneath the force.

Still, perhaps someday, this life would start to feel more like home to the time-lost Vault dweller. He hoped so. He’d like to see where their roads would take them as time went on. He'd like to show her. To be there with her. A twist threatened to touch his gut, wondering if such an opportunity would come to pass.

A light tapping of knuckles rang against the metal door of his quarters.

“Paladin Danse?” a voice called out, the latch on the ratcheted door unbolting and a young recruit peeking their head in.

“What is it?” he asked, regretting a bit as he tone came across too hard. He rubbed his eyes for a moment and softened the next words. “What can I assist you with, recruit?”

“It’s Knight Reed, sir. She’s waking up, they believe, sir,” the recruit nearly stammered.

“Outstanding,” Paladin Danse said with a sigh of relief. It took only a few scarce moments before he was on his way to the medical bay.

Silently, the Paladin reminded himself to walk calmly.

* * *

_If someone could either turn down the lights, or the throbbing in her head, that’d be great._

Head pounded in rhythm with each pulse. A dull, relentless pressure that ebbed and flowed just enough to be constant, but not enough to be acutely painful. Moderately uncomfortable, but manageable. It was like being trapped in a giant drum. Other sounds were distant and fuzzy. Muted, asif heard from underwater, perhaps, or with several walls between the voices.

_Self check._

Mouth: dry, sandpaper.

Head: felt 2x too big.

Arms: filled with lead.

Everywhere else: either painful, or just plain numb.

Where she was: not a clue.

It took what felt like minutes of focused effort before mind began to get up to speed. A slow trudging of calculations and recollection where usually it was easy to draw upon memories in an instant. Then bits and pieces began to form a picture. An image within. An explanation.

The mission. A vertibird. The crash. Falling. Hostiles. An explosion. Blood. Her blood.

_Right._

_What had happened after that?_

Focusing on the sounds felt as if it drew them closer. Mind began to pick out details within the white noise and muffled sensations. Voices began to drift in and out, some close, some far. Footsteps. Some heavier, some lighter. A door closed far louder than it needed to be. An engine spooled up, and the hum of its deep bass notes were familiar.

_The Prydwen._

“…. which explained the trauma,” a voice could be heard within the din.

Authoritative. Medical.

_Captain Knight Cade._

Someone was scribbling on a clipboard in the background.

_Were pens always that irritating?_

A machine somewhere beeped.

“Knight Reed is stable for now, but with significant blood loss. Surgery to remove the shrapnel from her liver went well. Everything stabilized fairly quickly after that. We did have to resort to more stitching than normal, given the urgency of the situation. The stimpaks administered seem to be progressing the healing process more easily now, but transfusions were required to maintain blood pressure. Risking anymore rounds of chems at the moment would be inadvisable, at least for another few hours. We will reassess then and decide what the next course of action will be.”

_Stitches? Maybe she’d earn some street credit after all,_ she thought to herself, nearly wincing.

 

_Shit._

_How could thoughts be painful?_

Everything in her body was on high-alert. No wonder the rushing, throbbing headache.

“I am grateful for your help, Captain-Knight Cade,” Paladin Danse’s familiar voice filled the room.

Gladen felt more at ease immediately.

Banter continued between the two for a short while, discussing a few details that mind failed to capture, or perhaps was too exhausted to bother recalling. No doubt there was discussion of protocol, of timelines, of paperwork to be signed and reports to be filled out. Such was the familiar way of the Brotherhood. Battle-hardened veterans against the scum of the Commonwealth in a vie for heroics and victory, followed by a hearty round of paperwork and reports for all.

The desire to turn off the lights was at the forefront of a semi-conscious mind, unable to manage even cracking an eyelid to look around. Tongue moved experimentally then, and realized that alone was a difficult task. Formulating an entire sentence to make a request might be a bit of a leap. Water was both a delightful concept and a dreadful idea. Stomach twitched as if unsure what to do with itself, and therefore it was perhaps best not to send anything down there in the near future.

_Maybe later..._

Instead, the copper-and-red-haired Knight managed to turn her head to the side in avoidance of the lights. A lone eye managed to peer open experimentally, shadowed slightly by her other features, glancing around at a fuzzy world that lacked details. Shapes, forms and shadows, but the edges were lost until she blinked several more times.

“Ah, you are awake,” an observant voice said to her left. One of the medical Scribes that assisted Knight Cade, no doubt. “We thought you were starting to come to.”

“Knight Reed,” a second voice appeared next to the Scribe, along with a shadow that thankfully blocked more of the light from above. “Do you know where you are?”

“Prydwen,” Gladen managed to say slowly, swallowing as best she could against the rasp in her throat.

“Excellent,” the resident medic seemed pleased. Someone wrote something down, scratching again with the disturbingly loud writing instrument. “Do you know who I am?”

It took effort to talk.

“Capt...” She gave up, foregoing the title, “Cade.”

“Correct,” he confirmed yet again. “You may be a bit groggy. That is normal. You were in critical condition upon arrival. We had to put you under for surgery. Shrapnel was removed from your liver and the laceration repaired. We’ve stitched what we could, but you’ve already received several rounds of recovery medication. The body needs some time to catch up.”

_That bad, huh?_

“You’ve also suffered a broken arm, which has been set and splinted. You will remain in the med-bay until your red and white blood cell counts are back up, you’re clear of any possible infection and able to function of your own accord. Is that understood?”

There was no doubt in her mind now; it really was the Prydwen.

“Yes,” she managed, gaining more of a voice.

There was no sense in arguing. The assessment seemed to match the current feelings going on within. The weight of each limb. The sluggish brain as it came-to. A general sense of exhaustion coupled with an ambiguous feeling of lethargy from something deeper. A notion of pain could be felt with the occasional twinge, but it was likely kept at bay from the use of a few opioids. There was no desire to move any distance anytime soon.

Eyes closed seemingly of their own accord, consciousness peaking through every now and then with the opening of a lid. A few questions answered. The feeling of being poked and prodded. Gladen was hard-pressed to determine what she was currently wearing, if anything at all. It was a casual thought, more just a passing amusement than actual worry.  Warm fingers took her pulse. An annoying penlight checked her pupils. Voices continued, a few questions directed at the patient between scheduling the next few hours. A device was adjusted near the bedside, and only then did Gladen realize a clear tube filled with red liquid was attached to the crook of her arm.

Eventually, the room fell quiet as the press of bodies filtered out one by one. Rest had been encouraged in the meantime with promise for more meds and prodding in a few delightful hours. A futile attempt was made to shift positions, but the body was having none of it.

Yet, she was not entirely alone. A chair scuffed against the metal floor, lifted from its spot across the room and repositioned nearest the laid out recruit. The sound of a body settling against it. It wasn’t difficult to guess who had lingered after the departure of Captain Knight Cade and the Scribes. Eyes parted carefully against the light to confirm the truth of such a hunch. Senses were relieved to find that the room had been dimmed a marginal amount, the overhead lights no longer blaring at full power. Ambient light filled the medbay instead, seemingly streaming from a variety of surfaces.

A twitch of a faint smile.

Thoughts were still sluggish. Mind vaguely recalled questions worth asking. _How was the mission? Is everyone alright? Rey? Smith? How long was I out for? I didn’t bleed on you too much, did I?_ But, most of all, mind wanted to express that she was glad to see her commanding officer alive and well.

Even without his power armor, the Paladin was an imposing figure. Even more so when viewed from the point of an infirmary bed.  It was little wonder why troops would rally beneath his instructions when given. No man under his command had ever been given an order that the Paladin himself would not have committed himself.

Yet, in the quiet of the medical bay, the posture normally held high wasn’t quite what it usually was. A tired rounding of the shoulders, as if the burden of the world had settled there. It wasn’t the embodiment of an authoritative officer reading out mission stats before a group. It wasn’t the body language most had come to know when debriefing from a successful excursion. The edges seemed softer, like a boulder weathered by a storm.

“You’re here,” the female Knight eventually managed, voice holding a distinctly tired note.

“Of course I am,” he responded with a perplexed expression, as if wondering where else he would be.

In truth, Danse had not been permitted to see his recruit for some time since handing her off to the care of the medics. No doubt it was in part to the touch-and-go situation at the time and needing to get the battle-wounded Knight tended to with urgency. The scene had been an unpleasant one. Cleaning the blood off of power armor was no new task to those within the Brotherhood. When it was a hostile’s blood, it was fairly routine. Washing off the blood of a squadmate, however, was an entirely different feeling.

Fingers knitted together in front of him as he contemplated the words to say. A leader’s role never got any easier. Making decisions, issuing orders, following through. There were always risks. There would always be risks. Even though he had promised to be prepared for such a circumstance, seeing someone wounded in the line of duty was difficult to bear. Then again, it was not nearly as heavy a burden as digging a grave. It was still a reminder, however. A reminder of the dangers they faced each day and how inhospitable the world could be for those struggling to survive within it.

A soft silence hung between them, not unlike the silence they shared often during missions. At camp. On the road. It was a comfortable silence. No need to senselessly fill the void with idle and meaningless chatter. Such was a subtle, yet greatly appreciated, mutual trait that they shared.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admitted, voice low.

“No,” she protested, even going so far as to attempt assertiveness. “Not your fault.”

Paladin Danse looked at her for a moment before looking down to sort through what he wished to say. _It was my job to ensure the responsibility of the mission. I didn’t get the right intel. Someone else failed at their job, but I should have kept you safe. It shouldn’t have gone like that. I should have done more._

“Reed, you almost died out there,” he said, surprising even himself as the words came out.

_Well… That was true._

“I hear…” Knight Reed managed a tired grin, voice softened by the lulling chems, “… it’s a dangerous world. I’m lucky. Got a good team.”

No one was around. In that moment, in the quiet of the medical bay, Paladin Danse dared reach out and carefully take her hand in his. It was cool to the touch, more so than usual. Fingernails were tinged a hue of soft violet as if not quite warmed enough from within. A comforting gesture was offered as the petite grip gave his a reassuring squeeze. Deep auburn gaze was thoughtful as he took in the scene, carefully touching her pale hand to his cheek and holding it there a moment as thumb ran over skin softer than his own.

Gladen Reed had been a civilian at the compound, rushing the grounds during a full-on ghoul attack. Unquestioning. Unpaid. Unrelenting. Seemingly unafraid. Graceful. Strong. A type of beauty that was beyond the depth of looks. An attraction found in both good company and a strong will. Even though that very same woman lay before him now, she was still every bit the person he had met all that time ago.

This was only a moment. A few weeks from now, they’d be back on the road. They’d be more careful next time. Better prepared. Better intel. More fall-back plans. More planning. More options. Less risks. Less headstrong tendencies. Less heroics. A unified team.

He’d see to that.

“Michael,” he said as he continued to hold her hand in the half-light. His gaze came up to meet hers. “My name. It's Michael.”


	18. Outside the Vault: Day 185

A hand reached out to steady against the supportive surface of the metal corridor. Not entirely leaning. Not fully braced against it. Not relying on it exclusively for balance. It was merely a fleeting touch, lingering for a half a moment until feet continued by. The walls acted as a mental reassurance more than physical support. Confidence that, if needed, it would be there. Each step was a little more effort than the last. Not by a huge amount. Not to the point of failure, but there was a noticeable lack of reserves when it came to energy expenditure. Muscles were unsteady, but not enough for others to really observe. Getting to the mess hall wouldn’t be too terribly hard. Going anywhere after that, however, would remain to be seen.

The past two days were an arrangement of random memories that seemed to exist outside of the spectrum of linear time. The tracking of hours had been difficult between the lack of visible clocks and the solid walls that gave no hint of transition from day to night. In combination was also the intermittent sleeping pattern that came with the administration of assorted medications that made for drowsy lapses of consciousness.

It had been a strange existence.

With increased physical fortitude came the desire to be up and moving once more. Limbs were getting stronger, the bouts of weakness becoming fewer and fewer. Sitting up took less of a toll, so long as one was mindful of the staples still holding the surgery site closed. Internal stitches would eventually dissolve on their own. With luck, the tiny brackets of metal holding the surface flesh together might be taken out in few more days. Already it, too, was beginning to show signs of mending. Arm remained slung, but already fingers could move without the twinge of hot pain in the upper arm. It was sore, bruised and strained, but already the purple-and-blue was turning a healing olive-and-yellow.

Even so, Captain-Knight Cade had given instruction that, so long as the Knight was able to move about without assistance and dress herself accordingly, permission would be given to move about the Prydwen for the time-being. Reed was required to check in ever few hours, and ordered to rest when warranted.

Ditching the threadbare medical robe and gown for a fresh orange-and-cream jumpsuit had been a much needed change. New as it was, and not broken in by the miles, it was tight-fitting and snug. In a way, it felt almost supportive. In another, it also hugged the torso and put pressure on the bandages beneath. Uncomfortable, but not enough deterrent to remain in bed any longer. 

Reaching the mess hall didn't take as long as she'd thought. Food was an interesting proposition in and of itself. Enticing, but also cause for some hesitation. A few offerings had been made over the past few days while in the infirmary, but they had been small portions consisting of only a few ingredients. Enough to get by without being too filling or hard on the system. Reed decided to take a few meal items, nothing questionable, and found an empty seat in the communal area. Not many others were around in the immediate area. A few were huddled at tables, talking more than eating. Most faces were unfamiliar, save for a few that might have been seen in passing. None paid her much mind, save for the occasional glance and polite nod.

Time passed slowly. The open room felt practically breezy compared to the small medical bay. Recruits filtered out, and a few others filtered in. Eating wasn’t a ravenous task to be undertaken, so the recovering Knight took it easy. Hunger did not seem as urgent when the body was in recovery mode. Then again, lying in bed didn’t give the system much demand for refueling.

Soon, the activity aboard the Prydwen began to take on more of a definitive tone.

_Shift change. Early morning._

While it might have been wise to make a departure before the press of bodies and various eyes watching, there was no desire to go back to the infirmary only to stare at the ceiling for hours on end. Even as seemingly out of place as the wounded soldier might have been, she decided to stay where she was. No sense in fleeing activity only to throw one’s self back into a state of boredom. At least the mess hall had people to talk to and break up the monotony.

Gladen Reed leaned on the table with her healthy limb to take some of the pressure off her mending core. Eating had somewhat quelled the very slight vertigo that she’d been experiencing, no doubt still coming down from the high doses of recovery medication. Hand flexed almost unconsciously, testing the injured arm out of habit. There likely wasn't much need for a sling anymore, but it was better to be a bit cautious than reckless.

A half-smirk twitched at the corner of now-pink-again lips.

_She was certainly an expert on reckless now._

More recruits entered and the bustle of the mess hall grew in intensity. Familiar faces began to pepper the crowd. Then, a few approached that were more than just familiar. Green eyes watched the duo casually, taking another sip of purified water. Finding good company was certainly a welcome bonus in addition to a walk and a bit of food. It was only when the search for a table began did the two notice the new attendee to their morning breakfast. A flash of surprise mirrored on twin features, even managing to break through the normal composure of the Paladin’s hard-to-read expression.

“Proctor Teagan. Paladin Danse,” she greeted politely, looking up at the twin figures.

“I didn’t think you’d be up and about so soon,” remarked the ranking officer as they took up empty seats, setting trays down accordingly. A curious look settled upon the recruit as if both skeptical and pleasantly surprised to see her there.

“The medbay walls were beginning to feel claustrophobic,” she confessed. “They gave leave for a time. Stretch my legs. Test my strength. See how I could handle being off bed rest for a small duration.”

“Make sure you still get plenty of rest,” advised the Paladin with a knowing look. “You’d be surprised how long it can take to make a full recovery if you don’t give it the proper amount of time.”

_No need to rush_ , he wanted to implore.

“I’ll be mindful of that, sir,” Gladen said, willing to heed such advice based off of clear experience on the matter.

“I hear you went toe-to-toe with some of those big green ones out there,” Proctor Teagan chimed in then, seeming delighted to see the Knight alive and well. A fork shoveled what looked like a strange version of scrambled eggs into a hungry maw.

“I’ve read similar such accounts,” Paladin Danse settled a curious, if direct, gaze upon his companion. He picked idly as his meal. “One of the Behemoth kills is attributed exclusively in your name.”

It was the first time they had ever openly discussed what had happened that day. While there was the knowledge it would eventually need to be shared, the reality of putting such details into words suddenly felt overwhelming. Nerves gnawed at ones stomach like an unsettling version of butterflies. Acting out such events was one thing. Justifying them later? That was quite another. In hindsight, it might even sound foolish to those who had not been there.

No doubt reports had been written up by various vantage points during that entire mission already. Accounts from Paladin Danse, to Knight Pyke, perhaps even Sivv, if they even let him write reports anymore. The brown eyes that met hers were level and steady, offering neither encouragement or reprimand. The moment was set, the stage waiting for the scene to be set. Danse took a bite of his food, chewing it thoughtfully. 

“Pyke said you weren’t even wearing your armor by the time they found you,” Teagan said, voice a hint louder than most people’s casual volume, catching attention from a few seated closest to them. The Proctor seemed to catch the notion, settling his tone.

“I’m sure she’ll do up a report when she is able,” Paladin Danse cut in, then, coming to the rescue of the Knight before him. It had been written as plain as day across those feminine features that the conversation had taken an unwanted turn. “Perhaps such discussion is best left for dinner rather than breakfast, hm?”

Proctor Teagan held up a single hand in surrender.

“True, my friend. Too true. I got ahead of myself. My apologies,” he backtracked. “It is good to see you doing well today, Knight. We are lucky to have the likes of you in our ranks.”

Gladen breathed an internal sigh of relief at the save.

“Thank you, Proctor. I’ll write up that report when I’m better able,” she insisted, both to sooth the inquiring man’s eagerness and to ensure that they knew it was something already on her to-do list. “With luck, I’ll be seeing you at your weapons cage for our next mission before too long.”

“Mm!” he hummed around a mouth full of food as a reminder clearly clicked. A quick swallow and the words were freed. “Swing by later and I will get you back what you lost at Fort Strong too. Your laser rifle and pistol they managed to salvage. Well, and your T-60, but that is going to take a bit more analysis to see what we’ll do with it. The panels are mostly a write-off, but the frame might still have some integrity. If it isn’t too compromised. So that’s on-hold for now, but the rest you can have back into your custody.”

“I’ll see if Proctor Ingram has time to take a look at the armor over the next few days,” offered the Paladin alternatively. “If she isn’t too busy with other matters. Or perhaps one of the engineering Scribes can take a look. Saves you the trouble.”

“That’d be much appreciated. Weapons and explosives I can handle. Power armor is tech a little out of my scope on the best of days. Even more when it comes to needing repairs like those!”

“I’ll get it taken care of either way,” the senior officer confirmed, seeming more than happy to take the burden off the already over-worked weapons master.

“See?” the Proctor said, pointing briefly at Reed with a fork then hiking a thumb towards the larger man. “That’s why they pay this one the big bucks for keeping everything under control.”

Danse shifted a look to the Proctor, who managed to not retreat under the intense gaze. 

“Well, looks like I best be getting back. They don’t let me out very often, and wouldn’t want them thinking I need a shorter leash! Goodness knows there's always something to be moving, sorting, obtaining, outfitting... you know the drill. I’ll be seeing you later, if you’re feeling up to it, Knight?” Teagan pestered.

“If not today, sometime this week,” confirmed the seated woman, who was doing quick calculations to see how long it would take to walk to the back of the mighty airship. It would likely not be happening that day, given how difficult the trek to the mess hall had proven to be.

“See you then,” bid Teagan, clapping Danse on the shoulder in friendly goodbye before departing down the hall with trudging footsteps.

A few moments passed, the hum of the mess hall a mixture of all voices mingling with one another until it was just a buzz.

“How are you feeling?”

The voice was a welcome one in the crowd.

“Better," Gladen said, reflecting on the matter. 

Danse nodded approvingly, idly swirling the dark liquid in his coffee cup unconsciously.

“It will still be a few days before I’m released for duties,” she relayed, figuring it was best to stay on-topic and professional. 

A Knight speaking to their Paladin. It would not be considered entirely out of place, especially of those looking on had read any of the reports.

“If not longer. We don’t release wounded into service until they’re deemed medically capable by both Captain-Knight Cade and the team lead for said recruit.”

“Fair enough. Will I be reassigned after I'm cleared?” she asked tentatively, voice dropping to a more personal level.

Danse shook his head in the negative just once.

“No. You will stay assigned to my team for now.”

_Relief._

“You forgive me, then?”

A hint of confusion tensed the features of the man sitting across from her. Features that could be picked out of any group. Features that she’d visiting her between rounds when she had been resting.

“Forgive you…? What for, exactly?”

_For nearly getting killed ...._

“For sacrificing my T-60,” she clarified instead. It was not a small, nor cheap, piece of equipment.

A sense of ease loosened the tension of his concerned brows.

“Consider it forgiven,” Michael offered reassuringly. “Our armor is a tool. If it saved you, in the end, then it did its job. I’m just glad you weren’t in it at the time. Just… don’t go making that a regular activity.”

The hint of jest was worthy enough nearly to laugh. It lightened the mood immediately and brought back instant memories of idle banter to be found after a successful day. A casual comfort. An ease of existence that was found when in good company.

“I’ll try not to,” Reed promised, happily adding a few playful notes in a hushed voice. “After all, there are a few other activities I can think of that I would much rather make a regular occurrence instead. Sir.”

Mug lowered from his own lips, eyes casting a sidelong glance towards his daring companion.

Green gaze merely sparkled with mischief as she drained the rest of her glass.


	19. Outside the Vault: Day 188

Being transferred down to the airport below was the first stage in transitioning back into full service. Certain duties had been assigned and undertaken as body came back up to speed. The tasks were simple, nearly menial, but each accomplishment brought the female Knight one step closer to reinstated field work. 

Open air and light had immediately brought relief to ones time-lagged system. Internal clock was instantly reset. Falling back into routines was also a welcome change. The confines of steel above was no doubt impressive as well as tactical, but it was hell to stay aboard any length of time with its lack of windows or timekeeping methods.

Along with open air came the hustle and bustle of activity. Bodies moving this way and that. Equipment was being handled at all hours. Machines of all type could be heard spooling to life now and then without a strict schedule. Even though there was little time for idle banter, it still felt less lonely than the bare walls of the infirmary.

It was still easy to tire. That was a fact. A lingering side effect that was taking some time to overcome, especially as reserves slowly replenished. Arm, however, no longer ached when being moved. Fingers no longer tingled with occasional numbness. Staples no longer held the flesh of her torso together, that task instead given over to the scar that traced the route where the shrapnel had enetered. In the grand scheme of things, Reed’s progress was actually remarkable. Had this happened back in 2077, it would have surely taken months to be up and moving with such ease.

_ How times had changed. _

The temporary cot which she had been assigned was calling her name, but it would be foregone a little while longer. Even though it had been a long day already there was still some unattended business to attend to. Lights buzzed alongside a gentle hum of activity. Not as loud as during the daytime, but still very much apparent compared to the silence of the Wastes. 

Worn boots found their way easily along the heavily cracked and uneven asphalt of what was once a runway. The majority of illumination coming from the canvas-covered mess hall slowly dimmed to a shadowy orange further out amongst the bunk tents.

Familiar voices rose in the short distance.

A feminine right hand reached out, fingers curling around the rusted metal of a faded green lawn chair. Muscles flexed and obeyed, even though they were still a touch tight. No longer painful, however. Effort was made to use the arm as much as possible to get it back to a fully operational state. The banter at the poorly lit table obscured the sound of metal legs dragging against pavement as the Knight settled in between Pyke and Millerson. Left hand dropped a set of caps to the road-sign table, intent on buying in for the next round.

The clattering noise sliced through the mulling voices successfully.

"So," Reed offered casually, "what are we playing tonight?" 

There was no denying there had been excitement to see the group again. Nerves had settled in as well along the walk in anticipation. A strange kind of anxiety that brought butterflies to one’s stomach. A touch of happiness, but also concern. An element of the unknown. There hadn’t been much time to talk about what had gone down at Fort Strong.

_ What had happened after she was evac’d?  _

_ Did they disapprove of how matters went down at the hot zone? _

It was all running through the Knight’s mind as a few tentative heartbeats passed.

"The fuck?" Sivv chimed in as elegantly as always. "Aren't you dead?"

“Not this time,” Reed offered, feeling the nerves and worry begin to slip away as the easy banter resumed. “Looks like you made it out relatively unscathed too. Impressive.”

“We were hoping they’d catch and eat Sivv, but we weren’t that lucky,” Millerson remarked with disappointment, although struggling to hide a creeping grin at the sudden unexpected company.

“Your words... they cut,” the almost-albino said, holding his chest in feigned pain. “I thought we were friends.”

Reed chuckled, then winced with a smile. 

“Fuckers,” she chided half-heartedly. “Don’t make me laugh.”

The last time the group had seen the woman was as a figure covered in blood being loaded into a    
vertibird. Someone had been clutching a bloodpak to try and keep up with the amount being lost at the time. No doubt word had been sent down that the Knight had survived the ordeal, but there had been no direct contact until now.

While it felt good to joke like before, the conversation took on a temporarily serious tone as their team leader offered a few words.

"We knew you’d survived,” Pyke offered. “Heard word, at least. Not much after that though. Are you… good?”

“Yeah,” the former Vault dweller’s expression softened. “Caught debris from the blast radius. Did a number to my liver and a few other parts. Got a few cool new scars, but I’ll live.”

Pyke nodded thoughtfully, shuffling cards with deft hands. While it seemed the stoic man wanted to say more, nothing came forth.

“Rey, hear that?” Sivv then elbowed the resident sniper, who would remain on active duty despite the partial sight loss. “Reed’s here!”

A cool, tempered look drifted to the resident embodiment of annoyance.

“I can see that, thanks,” Rey scratched his nose pointedly with a central finger. 

“Hey, I don’t know how far your peripheral vision goes now,” Sivv said in mock defense. “I’m just trying to be polite.”

“I’m not blind, or deaf, asshole,” the sniper responded, although there was no venom in the words. “And even with one good eye, I still outrank you.”

“Either you two fight it out or kiss, but whatever it is, hurry it up so we can get back to playing,” Pyke cut in as he settled a hand rolled cigarette on thin lips, striking a match with cupped hands to light it. 

“So, what happened afterwards?” Gladen decided to broach the subject, offering a change of topic before Rey and Sivv dug themselves into a quarrel. 

Pyke resumed shuffling as smoke trailed up from both nostrils like a dragon. It was Millerson who chimed in to answer then.

“Cleared the rest of the Fort,” he explained somewhat vaguely before shrugging. “Few of the greenskins were dug in fairly deep up at the top of the hill. Fought in a rage once they realized they were losing position. Almost broke through at one point, but we mowed them down with air support. We stayed on location for a while to secure the peninsula. Took another day to fully secure since there were so many spots hostiles could be hiding.”

“Any casualties?” Reed ventured to ask. 

“Few wounded,” Pyke answered then, dealing cards across the smooth surface. “Skirmishes are always intense since they outweigh us pretty well. Lost two pilots, but you probably figured that out.”

A nod. She’d guessed as much. 

“They letting you back out?” Millerson asked as he looked at his hand then tossed a few caps on the table.

More chimed in as piles grew to call. 

“In a bit,” Reed said, chewing on her lip a moment and rearranging her hand. “Got a bit longer on light duties before I’m allowed full field.” 

“You know where you’re going to be assigned?” Rey asked, trying to hide a tell. 

“No idea yet,” Gladen shrugged. 

“Well, we’d be happy to have you on any of the urban teams,” Sivv offered in a rare moment of sincerity after folding a garbage set of cards. 

“It was playing rodeo on that Behemoth that won you over, wasn’t it, Sivv?”

The almost-albino snorted a huff of a laugh. 

“Okay, so maybe you’d need a little bit more practical training before we take you on, ‘cause that display was definitely outside protocol.”

“You, following protocol?” Rey raised a single shocked brow to his teammate. “Never thought I’d live to see the day that Sivv claims to follow the rules.”

“I don’t know,” Millerson added thoughtfully. “I thought she rode it pretty well, to be honest.” 

Pyke laid down a hand, winning the pot with a two pair, King high. He exhaled a breath of tobacco and pulled the caps towards him without a show. 

“Not sure I can write up a transfer request citing exemplary skill at ‘riding’ hostiles,” he remarked with a deadpan expression.

A few expressions tweaked of withheld laughter.

“Pretty sure I’d have to change an answer on Captain Knight Cade’s medical questionnaire if that was the case,” she joked in turn, enjoying as the double entendre twist seemed to be causing a rise of color on Miller’s cheeks. 

“Heck of a skill to have,” Sivv joined in the fun. “Bet it works great for negotiations.”

Millerson groaned, “That’s not what I meant…”

Even Pyke puffed a smoke-filled chuckle. 

“I’ll still take the compliment,” Reed continued, picking up the deck of cards to deal the next round. “But, maybe don’t go around camp bragging about that to everyone, hey?”


	20. Outside the Vault: Day 242

Elder Maxson was an asshole.

Not a giant asshole, but the grating traits reared their head often enough in Reed’s presence to make it uncomfortable to deal with him in trying times. Something about the manner of speaking that could be both inspiring or demeaning, depending on how you took it. While touted as a great leader, Elder Maxson was ultimately very black and white on issues. His cautiousness was exceeded only by his overzealous nature and strict opinion on what was best for the Commonwealth.

The Brotherhood had always professed to want better for the world, proclaiming to be interested in preserving technology and aiding those that scratched a living on the Wastes. Yet, it was becoming clear that the agenda for resolving the Commonwealth’s problems was to treat it in a cleansing manner. To eliminate those that stood against the word of the Brotherhood, regardless of hostility or direct threat level. A black and white view that was attempting to operate in an entirely grey world.

Maxson had encouraged them to find a way into the Institute. A common goal they all shared. Reed, to find out information about her son. ‘Angel vengeance,’ Nick had called it. Maxson, to destroy the perceived threat emanating from it via synth activities. Danse, to follow the Elder’s orders to its completion. The web was woven and they all had a part to play.

Frustration had bubbled to the surface during their discussion, the only lead they had being immediately dismissed. Kellogg’s chip had indicated a mission to obtain a rogue scientist that had escaped from the Institute. It was a small lead, but the opportunity was monumental if it proved fruitful. Other teams had come up completely empty despite months of focused pursuit. Slim as it was, it was still brought to the attention of Elder Maxson weeks ago. It had been determined to be barely viable.

“It will be noted as a possible consideration once all other avenues are exhausted,” the Elder had said, ending the conversation with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Reed’s seething reaction had boiled to a simmer as weeks went by. It was still there, subtle and crackling, but it no longer threatened to loosen a challenging tongue on the topic.

A green light flashed in the sky before them, followed by a distant rumbling.

“Radstorm coming in, Paladin.”

The air was fresh above the ground. Hair whipped chaotically in the buffeting breeze, helmet held down to the side in a firm hand. The words were nearly lost as it took a moment to hoist the device  close enough to catch the message with an tilting head and listening ear. A helmet was practical on the ground. Up here, it could be foregone for a few moments of free enjoyment.

“Affirmative,” a voice responded to the Lancer, notes rich and deep. “Put us down as close to the target location as possible. We will radio for a later extraction.”

The vertibird tilted obediently, the Lancer scanning for a safe drop point in the increasingly ominous sky of green.

It had been a while since they had been out on the field together. Trades had happened back and forth between teams for the past several weeks. A restructuring and redistribution of skill out over the Commonwealth, depending level of experience and general aptitude.

First had been at the airport, assigned perimeter shifts. Next had been a several weeks of alternating between scout teams to different regions of the area. Hostile density evaluation. Probability of tech acquisition. Even some escort missions with Scribes had been undertaken. A handful of instances had seen the accompaniment of Paladin Danse for evaluation purposes. Other times it was orchestrated with the team leads instead. Pyke. Smith. Even Proctor Quinlan had joined on a particularly interesting venture.

Still, the excursions alongside her sponsor were particularly memorable. As professional as it was on the surface, there was a certain comfort that came with his presence. Even as serious as the Paladin was in his role, there had been a handful of instances where professionalism had taken a back seat to more daring encounters beyond the scope of prying eyes.

Green gaze drifted over to land upon the figure sharing the vertibird ride today. Danse was wearing his helmet, eyes and features obscured by the familiar battle-worn visor. She could tell he had been watching her, possibly even smiling behind that helmet of his. She flashed him a grin before hoisting her own helmet and locking it securely in place with a hiss.

He had indeed been regarding her, mind awash with all manner of information being processed. The mission. Pending missions in the future. Objectives. Immediate decisions. Future decisions. All the issues that lay in between. Yet, he was smiling in the privacy of his helm. A small gesture as he felt the tipping and tilting of the vertibird making its descent.

There had been worry months ago. Worry that the recruit he had seen slowly come into her own would be unable to find the ability to come back. Whether by physical limitation or mental hurdles. Getting gravely injured could change a person, realign their priorities and shift mental prerogatives. It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen it, and surely wouldn’t be the last.

Yet, Reed stood as ambitious as ever. If anything, it was as if the drive within had merely been tempered and strengthened as a result. Body language was as assertive as before. Mannerisms within the fold seemed to mesh more fluidly as time went on. Even witnessing the positive interactions with unfamiliar team dynamics was worthy of note. Personalities, especially in stressful situations, had the potential to clash. Knight Reed had maintained a relatively neutral position without conflict. No negative word had been reported back from the team leads about the female recruit and her role alongside them.

Adaptation was the key to survival on the Wastes, and Gladen had risen above the expected norm.

He could tell that his female companion had been frustrated by the lack of support from Elder Maxson in regards to their gathered intel and refusal to approve a mission to the Glowing Sea. Danse didn’t much blame him, truthfully. It was a reach at best. Not many could survive the Glowing Sea, let alone some random scientist from a sheltered existence. Where would they even begin to look? Sending out a valuable team of Brotherhood soldiers to look for a supposed person amongst the vastness of the Sea? It wasn't a logical resource venture.

Their current excursion was a welcome change of pace, all things considered. It would be just the two of them. Urban teams needed the asset of multiple bodies, heavier equipment and large caches of allocated resources to hold their own. However, out in the rural areas such a presence was more likely to attract notice and trouble. Therefore, modest groups were best dispatched for the task. It was easier to employ stealth and minimize conflict situations with only a few soldiers on hand scouting.

There were risks as well, but that could be said of any situation they were thrust into.

Dust whirled as the aircraft scoped out a potential landing zone, spinning down to drop off its cargo in a practiced maneuver. Both soldiers felt a jolt as the aircraft made touchdown.

“We’ll radio you a location for extraction once we’ve completed our reacon,” Knight Reed confirmed with their pilot, voice containing an assertive edge that the Paladin found himself rather fond of.

 _A lot had changed since they’d first met_ , he thought to himself.

“Affirmative,” their pilot confirmed. “Ad victoriam.”

“Ad victoriam,” the Knight and Paladin said in unison, disembarking with assorted provisions for the journey.

* * *

Vertibirds were an essential resource to the Brotherhood and vital in many of their excursions to the more remote locations of the Commonwealth. Part of Reed enjoyed the trips. The heights. The fresh air. The cool wind. Yet, another part developed a pit in her stomach each time she set foot in one of the mechanical marvels now. That was apparently normal after being in one that suffered a crash. Paladin Danse’s opinion of them hadn’t changed much since then, however, so Reed continued to put on a good face for his sake.

Green lightning rumbled in the distance again, getting closer. The Geiger counter in each of their power suits crackled an advisory as radiation levels began to pulse and climb.

“We need to get out of this radiation or it’s going to make us sick,” Paladin Danse stated over their audio relay while glancing up as if to read the sky.

Power armor offered more protection than none while exposed and on foot. Even so, radiation exposure was no joke. Even mild exposure over time would eventually require treatment. A slow, viscous goop that resembled thickened maple syrup would be administered intravenously that acted as an isotope scrub for the body. It left the patient with one vicious hangover the next day.

_Pleasant._

Radiation was also heavily monitored by the Brotherhood teams due to the underlying and remote chance that a teammate might turn into a ghoul if left unchecked. Skeptical as she was, Reed wasn’t about to argue about how ridiculous the stories made it sound. Being 210 years or so behind on intel made disputing the apparently common knowledge a moot point.

Gladen made a face, checking their location on her Pip-Boy.

Their eventual target was a place called Salem. Initial reports indicated a point of interest worth investigating, whether for resources or to analyze suitability for a future Brotherhood outpost. Hostiles were noted, but numbers and type remained to be seen. Their mission was to scout, report and potentially clear along the way if conditions were favorable. For now, their drop point had placed them significantly west of their objective.

“The way I see it, we have three options,” the Knight relayed, voice distorting through the module. “We can continue through the radstorm on foot until we reach Salem and hope the storm doesn’t get too bad. Another option is attempting to find some shelter along the way and press on in the morning. Or, we can head east a couple of miles and overnight at a local settlement that I’ve dealt with once before.”

Danse made a thoughtful noise.

“I’m assuming there’s a reason you didn’t offer up the settlement as our first option. Any particular reason you’re apprehensive to return?” he asked.

The trust between the duo had grown over the miles. A forged understanding of give and take. Relying more easily on one another without being so outwardly questioning or uneasy in unusual situations.

“I know your position on synths, sir, but I’m not entirely sure your standing when it comes to non-feral ghouls,” she clarified, pulling lower lip in thoughtfully.

It wasn’t that Slog was a bad place at all. They were kind people.

Feral ghouls were a terrifying hostile to deal with. There had been enough run-ins with their masses to understand the true danger of even a small gathered number of the creatures. They were no longer humans in any sense of the word. They may have once been, but radiation had corrupted and destroyed any semblance of humanity long ago.

Non-feral ghouls were an entirely different matter. Mentally sound, functioning, nearly-human. It was only their appearance that was so devastatingly affected. Even so, this difference set them apart from the ‘smoothskins’ and often lead to distrust, hostility or outright banishment. Such exclusion had eventually lead to the establishment of Slog. A safe refuge for those physically afflicted but still sound of mind.

A green light flashed above with thunder clapping immediately after. Their Geiger counts squawked unhappily. The Paladin mulled for a moment as the sound of rain could be heard falling in the distance. Eventually, he drew a deep breath.

“I am inclined to find shelter along the way,” he admitted, folding arms across his chest out of habit more than anything. “But, we don’t have the luxury of time or intel. I’d rather not be stumbling upon anything unsavoury this late in the day, especially once we lose the light.”

“I also know your feelings on getting treated for radiation sickness,” she offered, inclining her head in an exaggerated sideways glance.

 _Valid point,_ he thought.

“Your call on this one, Reed,” Michael conceded, deciding to remain neutral on the decision.

_A settlement did sound more reasonable than fighting hostiles in the dark._

_Still... ghouls._

If there was one thing Michael was learning along the way it was that the former Vault dweller had a unique skill for operating within the Commonwealth. While the Brotherhood had built a solid understanding for what the world currently was, Gladen had somehow managed to shake that foundation more than a handful of times. His heart still stayed with the cause of the Brotherhood, of course. He bled for the fold more times than could be counted. Yet, experience was slowly sculpting additional levels of functional understanding as time went on.

Not everyone in the Commonwealth were terrible people. Some were just trying to survive any way they could. There were dangers, certainly, but distrust was a two-way street. Blind faith was still to be heavily discouraged, but cautious optimism was warranted once in a while.

The wind was starting to pick up.

“Let’s try the settlement, sir,” Reed finally decided.

Slog was closer than any other marker on her current map. With the warnings of hostiles in the surrounding areas of Salem, it seemed most logical to wait until the storm passed before dealing with anything the Commonwealth might throw at them. Especially as they were supposed to be working through uncleared territory that hadn’t been assessed on foot for some time.

The radstorm had crept up upon them with a vengeance. Howling and blowing winds with alarming speed and power. Sand and dirt rattled against their helmets as they pressed through the terrain and broken road towards their mark. In retrospect, pushing through to Salem would have been a less than ideal option. Visibility was next to nothing as torrential polluted rains began to fall.

* * *

Slog had buckled up tight against the oncoming storm. Windows and doors had been properly fastened against the keening wind. Ghouls naturally seemed less affected by radiation than others, but none could be seen outside during the heart of the storm. No one really enjoyed radiation exposure, even those better suited to handle it than others.

Reed took off her helmet as they reached the main door of the facility. Walls indicated that the building had once served as a public swimming pool. Such things could be identified in old magazines or literature about leisure in the old world. Giant vats of purified water that people frolicked in during hot days. The Paladin still had difficulty in understanding the logic behind old world traditions at times. Pools were certainly one of those topics.

Removing the helmet garnered a disapproving look from the senior soldier. Even though the expression was hidden behind layers of steel and glass, it could be felt emanating. Copper-red hair whipping in the wind, the female Knight flashed her superior a reassuring smile.

“If they don’t know who we are, they very likely won’t be letting us inside,” the woman explained.

He begrudgingly nodded. Laser rifle was kept at the ready, just in case.

Armored knuckles rapped at the door.

“Wiseman?” she called out above the wind.

The settlers inside were likely gathered in the main room as they waited for the storm to pass. These folks weren’t as jumpy as the settlers they was used to dealing with, but they were an extremely cautious group nevertheless. They wouldn’t likely open the door for just anybody, especially on such a miserable night.

She knocked again, louder this time.

“It’s Gladen Reed, from Sunshine Co-op.”

A few moments passed. Thunder rumbled unhappily around them as rain continued to sound musically against their power armor. Reed’s lack of helmet was causing her to get wet the longer they stood in the open, the slightly waved tresses beginning to cling to various features.

A sound of fumbling came from the other side. Someone unbolted the door and threw it open.

“Gladen?” Wiseman rasped curiously, blinking against the wind-swept drops. He opened the door wide, gesturing a welcome. “Come in, come in, out of that storm. You sure picked an interesting time to drop by.”

Reed breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Wiseman. It’s good to see you again. Sorry to intrude without sending word. This storm caught my partner and I by surprise on our way to Salem.”

“Salem?” the friendly ghoul made a disapproving face as he bolted the door behind them, doubling checking that it had latched correctly. The wind whined pitifully on the other side. “I’d suggest you change your mind. It’s not the safest place to be in the Commonwealth, if the rumours are true.”

_Noted._

Surprisingly, upon entering the facility, Paladin Danse followed suit in removing his own helmet. If Reed was caught off guard by the behavior, features did their best at concealing internal thoughts on the matter. Still, it was good to see the stoic man following suit. While the Paladin was no social butterfly, he was gaining a better understanding of interaction with settlers.

A few familiar faces were gathered in the main entrance of the building. Beds were lined against the wall here and there still, occupied by the residents who owned them. They stared at the duo with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Many knew Gladen from her previous visits to the Slog, trying to help them set up trade lines with other settlements throughout the Commonwealth. The mystery Brotherhood figure in her company, however, gave them pause in approaching.

“I would like to hear more about these rumors, if you have a spare moment, Wiseman,” she said with a serious interest. “We aren’t planning to be at Salem long. Just checking the status of it. But, if there is anything we should know, it may be useful to see what we might be up against. Maybe clear out any trouble, if we can. In the meantime, do you mind if we wait the storm out? We will be more than happy to reimburse your hospitality, of course.”

Wiseman gave a wave of his scarred hand, dismissing the notion.

“No, no. You helped us out more than enough already with those Super mutants. Come, sit, eat. We have plenty of produce to go around. Just…” he looked at Paladin Danse with a firm expression, “… no funny business.”

“You’ll have no trouble from us. You have my word,” Gladen spoke truthfully, glancing at her partner as confirmation.

At first there had been mild tension. Slowly, a sense of cautious ease settled over the group once both visitors had exited their power armor. They now appeared much less formidable than the hulking armored forms from moments before. A side room was made available for the two visitors. It was sparsely furnished, but it was dry and suited their needs.

* * *

“They farm tarberries here,” Reed was explaining, having finished meeting with Wiseman to discuss the state of Salem. Lips pursed to blow on the steaming hot soup prepared by Jones for dinner. A careful taste was taken followed by an approving nod. “Wiseman over there set this place up as a refuge for those kicked out of other settlements.”

Danse was also eating, although posture indicated a higher state of alert than his companion.

“There is always a risk,” the Paladin said with a sidelong glance, although his words were markedly quiet.

“There’s always a risk with anybody these days,” Reed stated flatly.

Danse made a sound that like of a snort, not quite approval or disapproval.

He wasn’t wrong to be cautious. Ghouls were a grey area of understanding. Nobody knew exactly what it took to turn one feral. Wiseman had confirmed that with her during a previous conversation they’d shared. Yet, holding non-feral ghouls accountable for the crimes of ferals was a ridiculous concept.

The community at Slog had been nothing but kind to Gladen. More so than even some settlements occupied exclusively by smoothskins. It didn’t alter the fact that feral ghouls and functioning ghouls were cousins on the same tree, however. The risk would always be there, no matter how many kind gestures took place in the meantime.

“I’m willing to concede that this was the most logical option to ride out the storm, given our circumstances,” the veteran soldier admitted, partaking in another spoonful of the offered evening meal.

It was the closest thing to a compliment the Knight would get for dragging her officer to a settlement filled with ghouls.


	21. Outside the Vault: Day 244*

The coastline carried them along a slightly indirect route to their final destination. Given their objective, the decision was mutually made to keep their distance from any potentially problematic hubs. One such location was the quarry, known to be home to a well-established group of raiders. It was already known to the Brotherhood, but no action was currently being taken against them. Another was giving wide berth to a known Gunner outpost. While the Gunners weren’t particularly well known to Reed or Danse, it was best to avoid large settlements in case it turned into a hostile environment. Scouting and reporting back was their mission, not direct engagement of enemy strongholds.

Still, venturing past those two hot spots was not without its risks. The Commonwealth was full of wild things and it wasn’t long before both team members began seeing hints of movement in the distance or along the sea’s edge. 

“Mirelurks?” Knight Reed asked, squinting. 

“Looks to be,” Danse agreed. 

Salem was a prime location worth investigating. No doubt it was likely to attract the territorial crustaceans, what with its ease of access to the ocean and various hiding spots among the nearby ruins. While there was nothing particularly spectacular about the area, there was still a vested interest in the possibility of setting up a future outpost nearby. The Brotherhood presence was well known in the urban Commonwealth area, but its influence and reach was dismal in outer reaches.

The lighthouse was interesting, if rundown. Then there was a massive crater. Geiger counters squealed angrily when the wind changed and put them downwind of it. No doubt something nuclear had reached critical mass to cause the geographical void. Their path deviated from a straight line more often than not. As they grew closer to Salem, life began to appear more readily.

Mirelurks of all life stages began to grow in number and concentration the deeper they ventured into the zone. From nests to defensive oversized females, to hatchlings and the large-clawed males. Each chattered in annoyance whenever disrupted, triggering nearby ones to join the fray. Individually, they were relatively easy to dispatch. In groups, the shifting mass made it difficult to pick at the soft spots between the creatures carapace to bring them down.

Not yet noon and already the day felt longer than it should.

* * *

Gladen looked skeptically at the meal being prepared, unsure of exactly her feelings one way or another about. On one hand, the options made sense. On the other hand, trying to draw a line of similarity between hostile and food was proving difficult. It had taken time to get used to eating molerat. Even longer to be able to swallow communal squad rations without really tasting the concoction. But the idea of chowing down on fresh mirelurk meat was proving hard to wrap her head around. 

_ Well. _

The meat looked decent enough. Almost like a moist, soggy version of steamed crab with a lingering aftertaste that was impossible to pinpoint. The texture left something to be desired. Too soft, even when overcooked. It pulled from the mirelurk shells without much issue, however. Plus, it was plentiful after the days events. 

Reed regarded the forkful of meat a moment longer before stuffing it into her mouth, chewing without really savouring. Green eyes glanced over at the work her companion was managing, swallowing with only minor hesitation.

“You’re not really going to eat those, are you?” she asked.

“You’ve never had eggs before?” the Paladin remarked, stealing a brief glance up from the boiling pot he was monitoring. 

Reed pointed with her fork.

“Those,” she stated flatly, “aren’t eggs.”

Danse huffed in amusement.

“They’re better once cooked, I assure you,” he explained.

“They’re better left behind on the beach where you found them,” Gladen disagreed.

Still, the former Vault dweller would no doubt end up trying some of the questionable orbs eventually. They resembled shells filled with strange jelly more than any kind of actual food. It didn’t help matters that most of their morning had been spent clearing nests and destroying mirelurk hatchlings along the coast, including smashing half-developed eggs. It was hard to put that visual from one’s mind, making the idea of eating them that much less appetizing.

The early evening still contained plenty of light, but the choice to secure an outpost for the night had become priority. Given the density of hostiles in the local region, mostly the giant shelled creatures, it was a task best not left to the last minute. They would stay in for the evening, having dispatched more than a dozen of the full grown creatures in their recent push along the coast. An old military surplus store was more than suitable for their needs overnight, boasting a second floor that could be adequately secured.

“What do you make of the turrets?” the female Knight decided to discuss instead of harping anymore about their future meal ration. 

It was easy again. Not easy in the sense of difficulty, but easy in the sense of existence. While Reed had been making friends throughout the Brotherhood, nothing could hold a candle to the simplicity of sharing company with the senior officer. It felt wholesome. Especially when they were away from groups and the Paladin began to let his walls down. In certain circles, he was always known as Paladin Danse. Authoritative. Firm. Commanding. One on one, however, it was easier to see the walls come down to reveal Michael as a person behind the hardened exterior.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the BOS veteran admitted, using a fork to roll two large eggs evenly in the pot. “But it’s worth investigating if we have the chance. It doesn’t appear anyone has been in the area for some time, but best to do a few passes so we don’t miss anything. Do you have any additional intel regarding this area that might give us some indication of where the turrets came from?”

Despite being behind on the times by a significant gap, there was no denying that his recruit had a way with the world. Networking. Interacting with settlers. Establishing common ground and gaining crucial information from seemingly unyielding sources. Settlements were usually avoided by most of the Brotherhood to avoid conflict or create unease between members of the Commonwealth. Yet, Reed seemed to have a gift for obtaining intel time and time again. 

At first, Paladin Danse had been disapproving of the behavior. 

“Needlessly risky,” he had lectured. “Opening yourself to dangers you don’t even know are there.” 

Yet, the woman had managed to prove its usefulness in due course. As risky as it was, and as much as Danse still did not enjoy the concept of speaking with strangers or persons unknown, there was no denying that more good came of such interactions than not. Once realizing it was a moot point to argue the subject, he instead switched his tactics to ensuring her training and weapon handling were up to speed.

Once, Knight Reed had sat the Paladin down and explained the intricacies of the programmed Pip-Boy on her arm. Noted how it had been consistently updated and modified to cater to their ever-changing needs. Within the piece of archaic technology were records, names, triangulations for maps, old and new data relating to locations, names of peoples and even a handful of encrypted and unencrypted channels used for communication between settlements. 

“Just in case you ever need it,” Reed had explained. It was after Fort Strong.

Danse didn’t like to think of the scenario wherein he would ever be given the responsibility of its ultimate care.

“Nothing of mention really,” the green-eyed woman said, shaking her head in the negative. “I’m familiar with the Slog settlement, but never ventured this far past it.”

Michael nodded, mostly to himself. 

“Then we will just be extra cautious,” he concluded of the matter, removing the boiling metal pot from the torch flame and letting the floating eggs cool slowly. “I’d rather not deal with more difficulties than we have to. Mirelurks and molerats are one thing. Predictable. People are quite another.”

Reed made a face, growing more anxious about the strange eggs now that the shells had cooked almost clear as well. 

“Do we have enough time to stop by Sanctuary, you think?” she asked, tilting her head to regard the rough-cut Paladin. 

“Unlikely,” Michael frowned, lips pressing together as he gave it a quick thought. Brown eyes lifted to meet hers. “Why?”

“With any luck,” Gladen said, setting down her bowl in resignation, “they might be able to send us on our way with some real food.”

* * *

There was an elating type of freedom that came with no longer worrying about prying eyes seeing something they shouldn’t. To feel comfortable enough to court openly in the privacy of their camp. To make suggestive glances as they worked. Exchange knowing smirks. Engage in more than just a fleeting secret touch. 

Working in groups had its benefits, certainly. Conversation was never lacking. Company could always be found. An ease to the senses knowing that one need not be on guard at all times. Yet, working in small groups could have its benefits too. Especially when it was just the duo, away from the urban core and far from other signs of civilization.

He stood completely naked, a sensation relished on only the rarest of occasions. A firm hand sought his member in the low light, finding it ready, waiting and firm to the touch. It stiffened with eager interest, nearly leaping up into the grip as hand wrapped around it fondly. Flesh on flesh stroked, well practiced in the art. Even with large hands, the man filled his own palm quite well. A deep breath was let out slowly, hips instinctively tilting towards the familiar attention. Bare feet stepped closer, opposite hand resting on the small of his recruit’s arched back as he pleasured himself.

Bedding down for the evening had not meant they were eager to sleep. Quite the contrary. It had been Reed to seek him out, although he had suspected as much after the days events ending in a secure location. Of the banter between them over the miles. Suggestive intentions dripping in certain phrases. As she had come to him, he had swept her into his arms passionately, pulling close. 

Lips sought lips hungrily as if starved. Hands sought one another’s familiar curves. Bodies pressed close, an intimate dance that was both about leading and being lead. Articles of clothing were quickly forfeited to the ground in disinterest or even annoyance. A barrier. A thing to be removed and forgotten about as matters continued to progress. Each breathy note or sound encouraged the to go further.

An old counter suited the duo just fine. An exciting change from the cushioned floor of their bedrolls.

Blush and bright locks like molten copper spilled over the woman’s shoulders like a fiery waterfall as form arched enticingly in wait. Fingertips gripped the edge of the tabletop for both support and a means to balance against. Hips tilted upwards invitingly, green eyes stealing a glance over a shoulder as the shadow of her commanding officer drew close.

A sensual sound of encouragement rose from the throat of his partner and lover, eyes lidding as he sought her in the half-dark. Fingers wrapped firmly about his base, navigating by feel as the most sensitive part of his form sought hers with interest. A pause, purposefully toying against the hot velvet folds. Slowly drawing back and forth against them. Teasing. Savoring. Delaying. A tingle of enjoyment rippled along each nerve with the act, mind and body engrossed in the moment.

_ There, right there.  _

Danse knew he had found her when it was she that pressed back against his antics, seeking him. He drew a sharp, settling breath. Eyes lapsed closed of their own accord for just a moment. Both hands slipped to the hips before him, grasping with respectful urgency. Slowly, the flesh parted around him in welcome. An idle thought crept to mind, thinking back to their last coupling. 

_ So tight. _

“God, Reed,” the Paladin found himself unconsciously uttering, not realizing the words had even been spoken until he heard them himself. 

The slick velvet curtain of his lover took his advancements without issue. Slowly, squeezing at the sizable girth. Both breathed sounds of satisfaction in their sanctuary, lost to the intimate encounter as minds and bodies were awash with all manner of pleasures. It was only when nearly half his length had been taken did the senior officer begin to move in rhythm. Working in short strokes, an instinctive response rather than actual conscious thought. Firm hands continued to hold the delicate hips of the woman in front of him as he began to fuck her. 

It took only a few working moments until his member was filling his recruit fully with each pass. Muscles flexed in Danse’s arms, glutes and back with each pass. A glance down with honey-glazed eyes rewarded him with an tantalizing view of his glistening shaft, slick and hard, filling his partner to the brim with each movement. He paused just shy of filling her completely with the last thrust, and found that she moved back to meet him instead, taking over the role of keeping time.

The view sent a tingle of pleasure down each nerve, and he arched his hips forward in offering. Holding still a few moments longer, the Paladin blissfully watched as his partner worked herself against him instead. So engrossing was the scene that Paladin Danse found himself drawing a deep breath, closing his eyes and counting a brief list in his head of parts that needed repair on his T-60 the next stop they made. 

A calloused hand moved to the flat of her back, tracing up and down the length of Gladen’s spine as the feminine form beneath him flexed and moved. Goosebumps dimpled the flesh all over, skin cooling as body warmed from within.

“You like that?” the Paladin asked in a husky drawl, hips once more taking over the task of feeding her his length.

While there were no words to follow the question, only a throaty and promising moan.

“Yes, sir,” Reed uttered after a moment, fingertips white as she gripped the counter before her. Back was arched, hips tilted in continuous invitation for more. 

It was no secret that their working relationship added an enticing dynamic to their love-making sessions. Titles. Authority. Even maintaining rank in certain scenarios. Or rank reversal, as had been introduced previously with Gladen in command. It certainly kept matters heated. That particular encounter had kept inappropriate thoughts running through one’s mind for days after.

“Does my recruit want more?” the Paladin slowed purposefully again, his thrusts growing shallow and teasing. Firm hands held his partners hips, preventing her from pushing back. 

A pitiful moan rose from the woman beneath him, green eyes casting a dismayed look over a pale shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Michael feigned ignorance of her plight, although it took a measurable amount of fortitude to hold himself back as well. Sweat beaded on a naked chest, muscles tense and flexing. Again, a shallow thrust. Drawing back. Pressing forward, barely more than a third the entire length. Slow. Mindful. Partially to tease, partially to hold at bay the inevitable. 

His toes curled against the linoleum floor, struggling. 

“Fuck me, sir,” Gladen finally begged, trembling as the words spilled forward. Voice was breathy, nearly hoarse. 

_ Had he stopped right before her peak? _

The very thought nearly drove him to the edge himself.

“Please… oh please...” 

That was the moment Danse gave in, unwilling to hold the beautiful woman beneath him at bay any longer. Glistening shaft was sent back to task briskly, glutes flexing hard as hips came to meet hers. The sound of flesh upon flesh as they met over and over, taking and giving as deeply as requested. It was no longer a careful coupling. It was deep, filling and intense.

Knight Reed moaned vocally, lips closing the note into a deep hum before drawing a soft gasp each time her commander filled her without mercy. Large hands held her in place as she bent before him, her own muscles flexing for balance and stability. One hand loosened and was sent reaching between her legs, touching intimately during their lovemaking. However, it was not just herself that she touched encouragingly. Fingertips briefly graced against the thick rod that had stretched her so, feeling it slide in and out of her. 

A lustful grunt had come of the gesture, the next handful of thrusts deep and pausing as he pressed more firmly against her, as if seeking her hand against against him.

It was then that the Knight was climaxing, giving in to the feeling as it rose like a giant wave within her. A deep, throaty moan unlike those before it announced its arrival with such clarity that there was no need to even put it into words. 

“Yes, recruit…” Danse uttered lustfully from above, feeling her in every sense of the word. “Finish on me… Yes, Reed...”

“Oh, sir,” she found herself gasping out loud, eyes closing as pleasure poured over each nerve in unrelenting ecstasy, “Oh yes, sir!” 

Danse did his best to cater to his recruits request, feeling each pulse of her orgasm around his member, but failed to see her entire orgasm through as his own overwhelmed attempted mental fortitude. Muscles withdrew after a moment and slipped free from the warmth, wet and heat of his companion, laying his length between her cheeks as a hand frantically grasped the shaft. 

Michael stroked himself feverishly, the gesture eliciting a slick, unmistakable sound. 

“Nuuuhhh...” he grunted with eyes closing, teeth gritted together.

His orgasm was intense and felt deeply within each sense. Hips arched forward, eagerly giving in to the attention as thick, creamy liquid was pulsed from the glistening tip over and over in great bouts. It fell against his lover in mighty jets at first, coming to spill over the still-arching back artistically. Again and again it came forth, lost to it, until they were but sizable portions dripping to the attractive buttocks below. 

Paladin Danse drew heavy, deep breaths as he stood, blissfully spent.


	22. Outside the Vault: Day 245

Dust fell like sinister snow from between the cracks in the floorboards above them. It was cold, chill enough to see one's breath if helmets had not been securely fastened in place. Resounding footsteps above were made by something large. Something not human. Something best left alone. Reed held her weapon in check. Each breath came as slow and softly as possible, fighting the urge to draw quick gulps as heart tried to race. 

A corpse fell through the floor from above and landed in front of them with the wet, sickening sound of flesh and bone meeting concrete. It bore what looked like military fatigues, but nothing at all like what the BOS issued. Perhaps a type of escort guard. It was difficult to tell. The body was missing the larger half of its torso, as well as an arm and the head. 

Deep red blood oozed out onto the floor in a morbid pool, no longer flowing with the pulse of a heart. The crimson liquid seeped like water draining from a pile of freshly washed clothes. Cautiously, Reed peered up through the hole in the floor using her mounted optical scope. A disembodied arm was wedged between two broken pieces of floorboard. It swayed to-and-fro as if still waving.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ Fuck! _

 

It had been a body outside of the church that had drawn them in to investigate. It had been ravaged, torn to pieces as if a pack of wild dogs had been at it. A holotape had been produced from the muck of mud and human liquids mixed on the ground. Reed had nearly tossed the thing aside, hesitant to handle the tape it at all.

It had been a vague message. A warning. Whoever had received the tape had attempted to hide just that inside the looming structure. Little good it did them. The warning had been too casual on the subject. The warning should have screamed, should have yelled, should have been terrifying. Maybe then those within, now dead, would have taken it more seriously.

The creature continued to patrol and wander. Despite tearing out the side of the building to gain entrance, the vast monster was intent on remaining where it was. Guttural growls and deep-throated thrums echoed through the aged building as it walked about in slow, booming steps. 

Neither Michael nor Gladen needed to see the creature with their own eyes to know exactly what it was. Above them was a Deathclaw. The last thing any small patrol would want to run into. Reed had hoped it was simply a yao-guai at first, but they weren’t that fortunate. General consensus of dealing with the beasts was utilizing heavy artillery, high vantage points, immobilization by any means and a sizeable well-trained team. None of which was currently available to the two scouting soldiers.

The Knight turned slowly to regard her superior. Danse did not appear too phased by the situation, but he was certainly at odds with their next steps. Logically, it would be foolish to engage a full sized, adult Deathclaw with only two soldiers, regardless of experience. Yet, retreating to contact command would take time and there was a chance it would slip away before being properly dealt with. 

The audio relay between their helmets clicked slightly as he spoke.

Reed nearly jumped.

“I don’t like this,” Paladin Danse spoke quietly, even though the audio was contained within their helmets. “You follow my lead.”

“Affirmative,” Reed responded, voice lowered to match.

Entering the building through the rear door access had proven easy enough. The beast within had been too preoccupied with destroying its latest target to notice the sound of creaking stairs to the far side of the building. Reed and Danse hadn’t realized the compromised position until they were too far in the building to back out safely. The Deathclaw hadn’t made itself known until the two were already investigating the lower reaches of the facility, both struck to stillness when the creature snarled above.

Reed’s brows furrowed at the idea of walking back up that old staircase again, heavy and armored as they both were. But, there was no choice. It had to be done. Each step felt like an eternity. The slow placing of the foot. The methodical increase of weight upon the limb. The shifting of body weight to push up from the lower stair. Remembering to breathe was the hardest part. 

Danse gestured for Knight Reed to hold.

The Salem museum was in a state of deep decay like many historic locations found across the landscape. Modern buildings held up better against the elements, but older buildings did not fare so well. Holes in the ceiling allowed the elements in, dripping and rotting their way through. Lichen grew along the exposed wood in an attempt to reclaim the boards. The floor had sunk in multiple locations, looking soft and sagging.

The senior officer startled as he swept the main floor, stifling instinct with fortified nerves. Strange mannequins were strewn all about. Some standing, some having been knocked over, others a mass of body parts on the floor. Most appeared nude, while the occasional few wore aged garments. It made the task of identifying potential threats difficult as he mistook the figures for actual humans at first.

The beast shifted, then, stepping into the streaming light filtering in from the patchwork roof. Its horns nearly scraped the support rafters as it stood to full height. Each step the monster took made the floor beneath moan a protest. The sound of its tail scraping against the wall as it turned brought goosebumps to the Paladin’s skin.

He froze, grip on his rifle tight, holding his breath. In all his travels, Danse had never seen a Deathclaw that size before. Not in person. Not on foot. Not even from the air.

_ Reed had fought one of these before? _

A low booming thrum was heard as the creature turned its attention to a different body on the floor, gnashing its teeth slightly as if considering whether to sample it now or leave the scrap of food for a later meal. Long claws on its forelimbs scraped at the floor as it crouched and turned, settling into a contemplative pose.

The exit lay a dozen steps ahead, in the direction of the creature.

_ Dammit. _

_ Should they wait, or press their luck to make their escape? _

Considering there was a massive hole in the side of the building through which the Deathclaw could duck out and make chase, the idea of making a run for it was foolish at best. It would take only moments for the beast to be upon them if it wished. The stride alone would keep pace with even the fastest human sprinter. Getting away undetected was the more ideal situation. 

Carefully, Danse retreated back towards the stairs. They would leave this one for now and request a back-up squad. With luck, it wouldn’t notice their human scent amidst the other scents scattered about. With luck, it would leave. With luck, it would wander away from the door and they could make their escape attempt.

At least, that had been the initial plan.

Softened boards relinquished under the weight of the power armor. It came as a splintering noise just before the crack of it breaking apart. Paladin Danse felt himself lose balance momentarily, leg sucked into the darkness below as he fought to regain footing. Adrenaline poured into his veins like a wave, gulping a surprised breath of air as heart jumped with shock, crashing to a prone position.

Armored hand pushed against the floorboards in an attempt to boost his one leg free from the hole, but the boards crackled and whispered threats of breaking further with the struggle. The Paladin threw his weight away from the rotten void as he resorted to pulling himself into a frantic crawl. 

Suddenly, he was moving faster than his own efforts. Body was hoisted to the side and back violently as a hand gripped the shoulder ridge of his armor and pulled. Servos whirled and a shout as Reed joined the effort, yanking her senior officer up from his position with a mighty tug. 

Then, they were tumbling. 

It was not by any Deathclaw that they were sent across the floor, but a desperate spearing shove by Reed knocked them both out of balance. Confusion came at first, but there was no choice but to roll with the movement.

  
_ Falling. _

 

They were both falling. 

 

Danse’s brows furrowed in confusion as the ceiling loomed above them, drifting away just slightly through the glass of his helmet. Each thought came lightning fast, happening and being analyzed in mere tenths of a second. Perhaps that was why he felt confusion before the sudden jolt. Perhaps that was why he had time to wonder what was happening, even though only a few scarce seconds had gone by. The sudden stop nearly knocked the wind from him, landing flat on his back in the basement once more. Beside him crashed Gladen.

Above him, the severed arm waved in amusement.

It was the Paladin that jumped to attention then, spurred on by a dumping of adrenaline. Legs worked quickly in time with arms, pushing and rising faster than most might be able to in a full suit of T-60 plated armor. Massive armored hands grasped his female companion and yanked her away from the giant bloody hole. Claws the size of saber blades swung through the gap in the floor, seeking prey with a guttural growl. 

A blaze of red and orange muzzle flash illuminated the musty basement as Reed loosened a few rounds from her .45 rifle towards the exposed hand-like limb that sought to catch them. Several rounds missed, but a few struck. Immediately, the hand was retracted with a howl.

The sound of a ricocheted bullet was unsettling. 

_ Had it deflected from the Deathclaw’s armor, or had it struck something metal behind in the dark? _

Reed and Danse were breathing heavily within their respective helmets, chests heaving from the close encounter.

“That… is one big Deathclaw,” Reed’s audio fed into his helmet.

There was a ragged note to the words as if concerned.

Danse nodded idly in agreement.

_ No way they could take it out between just the two of them. _

Above them, the floor began to groan anew. The sound of boards cracking. Suddenly, it began to give way under the weight of the massive stomping Deathclaw tearing about the place. Where once had been an empty basement was rapidly filled with the body of a frustrated and angry Deathclaw as it flailed and crashed through the old broken boards.

“Move!” shouted Danse as they once more made a dash for the stairs, narrowly avoiding being pinned beneath two tonnes of armoured hide plating and muscle.

Dust filled the room and clouded the air as the duo vaulted for the stairs. This building was a deathtrap in more ways than one.

They paused at the top, weapons at the ready. The savage Deathclaw didn’t seem to be returning to the main floor. Instead it was growling heatedly below their feet, too tall to stand upright, but not tall enough to leap back up through the hole with ease. It was only a matter of time before it figured out that crawling out may be an option.

“I think it’s stuck.”

“For now,” Danse said, mind racing a mile a minute. “But it won’t be for long. We need to get moving.”

_ Could they outrun it? _

“What if it follow us?” Reed said, rifle still hoisted and trained towards the giant hole in the floor that was still growling.

Glimpses of movement could be seen in the shadows below. 

_ Shit. _

“We could pin it,” Reed piped up then, taking inventory.

Her companion looked up and around as well. The building was elderly and already in a state of increased instability. While a historical building, it was not suitable for any manner of preservation beyond that of visual interest. No longer secure, thanks to the giant hole in the side wall. No longer safe, given the state of the floor. No technology that needed to be tagged and extracted. If they could manage to knock down the building, or a portion of it, that might be a viable option to buy some time.

“How many grenades do you have on you?” Danse asked then, slinging his rifle back over a shoulder momentarily. 

“Three.”

_ It just might work.  _

* * *

Their best case scenario was a reach at best. If they weren’t able to destroy the facility, then they would fall back and radio for immediate vertibird support if available. Simultaneously, both Reed and Danse pulled the grenade pins and lobbed them into the centre of the facility, aiming towards the direction where the Deathclaw had fallen below. Urgency followed in each step as they retreated, sprinting for distance as the fuses reached their respective cores.

Each explosion rocked the building, knocking shingles from the roof and shuddering the entire structure. Dust plumed from every void and hole. Floorboards exploded upwards as splintering kindle, rupturing up through the roof. Walls crumbled as the shock waves attempted to tear apart everything nearby. A deep groan of promise got hopes up, but faded as the building simply leaned.

“Dammit!”

The creature below howled. Fear trickled in, not only realizing the beast had survived the explosion, but that it was now far more irritated and angered than before. Each crackle of breaking planks suggested the beast was attempting to break free of the wooden prison.

“We have to move,” the Paladin said, evaluating for possible escape routes. 

A sound interrupted the words. It was like the sound of an old door on hinges slowly being opened, only this time it was foretelling of something entirely different. Slowly, the roof began to pitch. A twisting of the walls as the weight of the ancient structure began to pull against itself. Beams buckled within, popping like firearms beneath the weight of the leaning supports. 

Within, the creature snarled again, but was soon drowned out as the Museum of Witchcraft began to implode. Once it began to tilt, it gained speed and folded like a deck of massive cards. The resounding boom set off by the collapse was deafening, no doubt heard for a good mile in all directions. As it crashed, sagging to its ultimate death, dust and mold rose like a morbid mushroom cloud in the still air. 

Reed stood on guard, rifle trained towards the debris in anxious wait. 

 

Nothing.

 

Minutes passed. 

 

Nothing.

 

“I’ll tag our position for additional follow-up with the heavies,” Danse said, tone confirming that the experience had been more than a little jarring for all parties involved.

“Affirmative, sir,” the Knight agreed.

Danse drew a slow breath, attempting to find calm after the ordeal. 

“Was it like that?” her lover asked. “Your encounter?”

“Kind of,” Reed said, giving a single shake of her head. “This wasn’t as face-to-face, but I definitely don’t enjoy dealing with them.”

Something in the debris shifted, weapons snapping up.  


* * *

Reed popped the holotape into her Pip-Boy, snapping it closed and playing it from the beginning. It crackled and popped, like most holotapes did, but the sound of a male voice soon interrupted the white noise.

“The case wasn’t at all like we thought. It wasn’t weapons. It wasn’t stolen goods. It was… fucking Deathclaw eggs. We were smuggling Deathclaw eggs! No wonder they didn’t want us asking questions. If I’d known, I would’ve personally told the Gunner bosses and that glorified liquor cabinet Wellingham to take those Diamond City caps and stuff ‘em. Guess we know why that Deathclaw tracked us all the way from Lynn Woods. We stole her damn kids. Christ, maybe, maybe if we return them…”

_ Crackle. Click. _

The holotape ended. There was no more of the haunting message.

“Why steal Deathclaw eggs?” the female Knight asked, perplexed by the very concept.

“Certain groups of people consider them a delicacy. A type of boasting, or elitism. It’s a foolish practice and one of the reasons we see Deathclaws becoming more involved in human and settlement activity,” Paladin Danse replied, voice hard. “I thought this type of trade had diminished, but apparently I was wrong.”

“What kind of idiots…”

“Dead ones,” Danse cut her off with more intensity than intended. 

“So what do we do with that?” Reed asked then, pointing towards the being that had crawled from the debris.

The hatchling Deathclaw appeared non-hostile, even curious. It had survived the collapse, likely due to its proximity near the doorway at the time of collapse. A shine covered its body, glossy as if freshly painted. If the holotape was any clue, pried from the hand of a dead human mercenary beneath the rubble, then perhaps the eggs they were carrying were not nearly as fresh as they’d suspected. Little wonder why the savage Deathclaw hadn’t left the place even after killing all the humans. The smell of eggs and young had kept it present. 

The little one lacked the massive claws and hardened spines of its elders. Even the curling horns were but bumps on the surface of its skull as it regarded the Brotherhood soldiers with the slightest tilt of its head. It blinked its pupilless eyes at the duo, the a soft bubbling thrum offered up from its infant throat. Oddly enough, the face of the hatchling appeared to be pale white in comparison to its more mottled grey body. Some kind of aberrant pattern, perhaps. A few more white spots appeared randomly along its belly as well like patches of cloud cover.

The Brotherhood dealt with invasive creatures day in and day out as they encroached on human activity. In a world so vast, there was plenty of room for both to exist in their own respective regions. Humans, keeping to a select few areas, and creatures, keeping to whatever remained. In this case, humans had brought trouble down upon themselves and to others. The actions of a single group had gotten them killed and, in the process, jeopardized the lives of any who stumbled upon the inevitable fallout. 

The Paladin shook his head.

“Leave it,” he stated without emotion.

“A Deathclaw?” Reed clarified, confused. 

“That one,” Danse stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “doesn’t pose an immediate threat. Leave it, and let us move on.”

The pale-faced hatchling clicked quietly to itself, watching as the duo departed.


	23. Outside the Vault: Day 253

Reed worked quietly on a new scope attachment for her .45, salvaged from a storage locker down in the basement of Listening Post Bravo. It was not out of peace and contentment that the woman was silent. It was a brooding mood that kept lips sealed. Ever since word had come from the Prydwen with the details of their next mission operative, Reed had been in an irritated state.

“ _ Go to the Glowing Sea _ ,” the message had relayed. 

Lips twisted together in recollection.

“ _ Find that missing scientist _ .”

Knuckles white on the tightening key. 

“ _ If located, obtain information regarding the Institute _ .”

The key slipped, clattering to the floor with a metal ping. 

“Shit.”

The female Knight wondered if taking a break would be a wise plan. The rifle could wait. Their extraction wasn’t for another 48 hours. That would give enough time to secure it, test it, sight it in and get used to the different power of its visual range. The previous scope had been chipped during the events as Salem, knocked from true and cracked. 

Danse remained above ground by offering to keep watch while his companion’s mood cooled after their latest orders. It was no surprise that the instructions had been met with frustration, given how time-sensitive the intel had been several weeks ago. If ever there had been a chance to find the scientist, it grew slimmer with each passing hour. The probability of finding a lost scientist in the Glowing Sea now was too small to even calculate.

As it was, their scouting of the Salem region had concluded as planned. Areas had been marked, an updated map drawn, buildings standing or fallen had been noted. It wasn’t a terrible place in the grand scheme of things. The mirelurk population would always be cause for concern, but that wasn’t unlike the ghoul problems in urban squares. It was potentially viable, given the right infrastructure.

The break away from urban tasks, Danse admitted, was nice.

His newly acquired company, however, was proving to be meddlesome. 

“I will shoot you,” the Paladin promised a portion of wasteland brush, scowling through a tinted visor. 

The brush rustled in response.

It was several hours after the museum’s destruction that the Paladin first noticed they were being stalked. A subtle, distant feeling of being under someone’s watchful gaze. At first, it had been given a blind eye. A cold shoulder. Zero acknowledgement. Even the sound of laser rounds dispatching a group of bloatflies had not been enough to deter the shadowy creature, however.

Reed had noticed as well, but said nothing of it beyond a quick tilt of the head to her commander in recognition.

After the eighth day of the matter, it had become somewhat routine. 

The pale-faced demon scurried forward from within the withered brush, eating the remains of what appeared to be a sizable radroach. Eyes the color of milk and void of pupils spun up to regard the taller human wrapped in tin. It chewed loudly with a sawing, gaping, smacking maw. After a moment, it swallowed then chattered.

_ Was that a greeting, or a threat? _

“Go home,” Danse uttered with a growling note, leaning down with an attempt at physical intimidation. 

The hatchling blinked at him, offering the same note but with a delighted trill at the end.

The Paladin’s lip twitched with a grunt.

_ Disgusting creature. _

Such was the nature of the current watch. More than a handful of times it had rustled up upon him in the dark, nearly eating a laser round out of pure reflex. Next time, there would be no hesitation to pull the trigger. That was the plan. It would be as easy as that. Next time.

Listening Post Bravo was silent against the world, save for the faint sound of the Paladin’s heavy footsteps. No turrets ran or stood guard. No blaring lights. Stealth was their operative, not obvious occupation or anything to attract additional unwanted attention.

A soft, dull thud interrupted thoughts.

“... I don’t want that,” he muttered, looking at the dead radroach left at his feet. 

An armored boot kicked it aside.

Regardless of the Paladin’s protests, the creature did not immediately depart. It did not leave as the Paladin walked, nor as the Paladin circled the compound. It did not depart whether walking or standing. It did not depart even when threatened with violence.

It did not depart as the Paladin sat down upon the steps of the outpost’s entrance, nor did it depart as the Paladin removed his helmet for a breath of fresh, unfiltered air. It did not depart as they sat unmoving. It did not depart as it ran out of radroaches to hunt. It did not depart when the large human kicked away the last carcass, speaking in harsh words.

Instead, the small creature kicked up a manner of dust, rolling briefly before settling into a half-circle on the rough ground. 

It did not depart as the strange human watched it. 

It did not depart as the Paladin grumbled a last protest.

And it certainly did not depart as a hand came down and gingerly pat the top of its head.

“You are a very bothersome creature,” the human complained bitterly.

The youngling Deathclaw simply clicked a brief chattering approval.


End file.
